


A Fistful of Coal Dust

by Jay Auris (nighthawkms)



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Earth, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Western, Anachronistic, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempted Kidnapping, Beverly Marsh Knows Everything, Bill Denbrough Loves Mike Hanlon, Bounty Hunters, Developing Friendships, Duelling, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak is a Mess, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Falling In Love, Flashbacks, Fluff and Humor, Gang Violence, Geographical Inaccuracies, Gun Violence, Hand Jobs, Heartbreak, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Magic-Users, Mike Hanlon Loves Bill Denbrough, Monsters, Multi, Mystery Character(s), One Big Happy Family, Oral Sex, Protectiveness, Richie Tozier & Stanley Uris Are Best Friends, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Secrets, Sonia Kaspbrak's A+ Parenting, Stanley Uris is So Done, Unique Magic System, Western
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-25 05:14:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 46,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22030579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nighthawkms/pseuds/Jay%20Auris
Summary: Eddie Kaspbrak usually works alone. For a bounty hunting mage, this is unheard of; dangerous, foolhardy. But for Eddie - stricken with a dangerous abnormality to his magic - it's the safest way to survive.When a new bounty takes him to the backwater town of Derry, he's not expecting anything more than a hard job done right for good money. But Eddie's past is about to catch up with him, and Derry could face the consequences. He'll have to team up with a rag-tag bunch of misfits - a sheriff with too much on his shoulders, a tavern owner haunted by loss, and four other hunters with their own secrets and motivations - if he wants to survive.And maybe, if he's lucky, he'll get an answer to the one question that's been bugging him since he got to Derry: Who is Richie Tozier, and what does he want from Eddie?
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 70
Kudos: 160





	1. Once Upon a Time in Derry

**Author's Note:**

> Note: This version of Earth is an anachronistic alternate universe with a completely different historical background in terms of cultural, social, economic, governmental and religious development. -Isms like sexism, racism, homophobia, transphobia, etc are much less common or near nonexistent, having been usurped by prejudices based on magic. The geography and topography of Earth are also far different; "Maine County" (where the story takes place) and most of what we would know as New England have a climate and biome more similar to the Midwest.
> 
> Thanks to my friend Rei for doing a point-by-point flailing beta of this fic. Much appreciated, m'dear <3
> 
> I literally brainstormed this fic while listening to [Hang On to Yourself by Palaye Royale](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cjSobSYXo_8) on repeat for like 5 hours. So that's basically the A E S T H E T I C of this fic.

The advertisement pinned to the bulletin board in Portland had been brief but enticing. A hundred-thousand-dollar reward to come and dispose of a dangerous beast terrorizing a small town about forty miles to the north. An extremely dangerous prey, the note had advised. Only the most practiced bounty hunters need apply. And oddest of all, a request to be at the tavern in the town on a specific date, at a specific time.

The money was good, the danger seemed immense, and most hunters, despite the high price tag, would prefer to stick to larger cities where there were plentiful bounties, instead of taking time out of their way to bag prey in a podunk town in the middle of nowhere.

Eddie, however, was up for the challenge.

Now, most hunters work in pairs or trios for good reason. If you’re a lone Coal mage trying to capture an outlaw with Water magic, your chances of success are slim. Water beats Coal, Wood beats Water, and Coal beats Wood, after all. Not that you’ll never see a Coal mage take down a Water mage, but it’s damn hard, and usually requires that Coal mage to get really lucky with a shot from their smith-imbued Wood gun. But pair up with a Wood mage instead, and maybe add your own Water mage to the mix, and you’re in business.

Eddie doesn’t have that advantage. Eddie works alone. There are many reasons for this. Nobody back home who would give him the time of day, even before his mother died, and certainly not after she went, and they ran him out of town. People are also impressed when a hired hand brings you the target you asked for all by his lonesome. People look at a man who can handle a big job without a partner and say, now there’s a man who can take care of himself.

There’s also one more reason but, well, Eddie doesn’t exactly advertise that one. It’s the reason that, if a soul heard it and then heard he was thinking about taking that trip up to Derry, they would laugh in his face and then tell him he was a damned fool for trying it.

See, Eddie can work magic. He’s got that energy that some rare and special people are born with. They say the Triad – the Coal god, the Wood god and the Water god – give their power to a select few blessed folks to keep the world balanced, and that’s how the world gets Coal and Wood and Water mages. Mages spend years training, thrusting power into bundles of wood and piles of coal and bowls of water to see which takes the energy best. Everybody’s got a proficiency, and you better learn it damn quick unless you want to blow yourself up working with material you’re not built for. You either learn your place, or the magic’ll learn it for you- right into an early grave.

But see, Eddie doesn’t have a proficiency. He’s nearing forty years on this great big ball and no matter how many bundles of wood or piles of coal or bowls of water he tests his power on, none of them ever feel right, and none of them ever produce that kind of great power that a good mage should.

Eddie’s never heard of any other mage having this problem. The townsfolk he grew up with were so spooked, so worried that one day he’d blow up half the town with a poorly placed spell that it was only his mother’s wealth and esteemed family reputation that kept him from being thrown to the vultures. That’s why he was on a horse out of there when she drew her last breath, with as much coin as he could carry. He realized long before then how his life would go. At least he was able to prepare for it.

He’s been able to make his way through the world despite all these troubles. People give him funny looks when he walks by and they see the familiar triple holsters strapped across his back: two smaller ones for the smith-made, non-proficient guns, and a larger one for their proficiency pistol. Eddie’s holsters are all the same size. It makes people stop in the street, to see such a sight.

Most times, this is why Eddie wears his coats long. If they saw such a sight, and then saw the fourth gun – the one he’s got strapped to his waist, the one a good mage never would need to carry, the normal gun with the steel bullets – they might look at him a little too hard.

Eddie doesn’t want that. Eddie just wants to be left alone, to do his job, and live a quiet life otherwise. He’s polite but firm, unwilling to take anybody’s shit, and the people he works for are always satisfied with the job he does. His purse is never empty, is what he’s saying. Maybe he’s a little lonely, but a crowded bar and a little booze can help him find someone to ease that loneliness, at least for a few nights. At least until he moves on to the next town. Bounty hunters never stay anywhere for too long, lest the kin of their target decide on some revenge. It’s also why you often see couples working together; hard to keep down a relationship when you’re always on the move.

So, when Eddie sees the ad, just a little too far off the beaten path, a little too dangerous for most, he’s intrigued. Especially with that last part, about the meeting time and place? What happens if no one shows up? Does this... Sheriff Hanlon come back and post another advertisement? It seems like a poor way to get yourself some help.

That reward money, though... Eddie could retire on a hundred thou, start a different life somewhere else. There’s a lot of opportunity in a job like that.

So, Eddie rips the note off the bulletin board and tucks it in his pocket. Then he buys another drink and asks the bartender the best way to get to Derry. There’s some nasty things out on those plains up north that he’d like to avoid.

Follow the train tracks, is what the woman says. That’s the safest path. They built ‘em like that for a reason.

Eddie takes a room at the inn that night, and when he dreams, it’s the same one he hasn’t been able to get out of his mind for twenty-three years. More a memory than a dream, because dreams should comfort, and this one never does. Remembering a wiry boy with short, sandy hair, a smile that spoke of wit and more brains that people gave him credit for, and soft lips and hands that Eddie still aches for.

In the morning, he rides. His horse is young and agile; she’s much faster than the old stud he put to pasture awhile back, and the road is smooth and clear of debris. He slows her down for the last ten miles, because he doesn’t want to wear her right out, so by the time he enters the Derry town limits, the sun has mostly set and dusk blankets the horizon.

Derry is as podunk as it sounded. There’s one long main street with an apothecary, a general store, barber, doctor, blacksmith and gun store. A tavern sits at the end of the street. Surrounding this street are about fifty sparsely constructed houses, built on smaller streets like a grid. Another road leads north out of town towards the mountains, and the train tracks continue onwards with that road.

Despite the lights in the windows and the air of being populated, not a single person besides Eddie is on the street. Now, Eddie’s been in plenty of small towns, and this is highly unusual. Even small towns have a semi-decent night life. He should hear drinking and revelry from the tavern, see men and women and those who are neither walking the streets, laughing and wooing each other. But the town is quiet, like they think the sound of noise would draw something dangerous into view.

The only sign of life are the four horses tied to the post in front of the tavern. They whicker and whinny nervously, and Eddie’s mare seems disturbed as well; he has to coax her gently to the pole to let him tie her to it.

“It’s all right, girl,” Eddie says, stroking her mane after he hops down. “Nothing out here to scare you. Just the wind and the moon.”

Eddie pulls his pocket watch out and checks the time, winding it before putting it back. It’s seven forty-five. The notice said to be at the tavern by eight, and he’s just made it in time. Hopefully, this Sheriff’s watch is working right, not too fast or too slow.

When Eddie pushes the door of the bar open, he’s met by a grand-looking room with high-vaulted ceilings that, from the outside, he presumed were part of the second floor. There’s a long staircase leading up the back of the bar to the actual second floor, which is blocked off by a railing across the whole length, but no walls, so Eddie can see there are only four doors. Down on the main floor, there’s a long wooden bar to his left, with dozens of dusty, half-filled bottles on the wall behind it, and a lanky, flop-haired man standing there, cleaning glasses with a rag. There are wooden, circular tables set out in the middle; a tall man with wide shoulders and a wiry red-headed woman sit at one, dealing cards between them. There’s also a long table with benches set across the length of the right side of the room. Two men lounge there, feet kicked up on the table and backs to the wall, the shorter one drinking a beer, the taller one’s face obscured with his hat tipped forwards. Two pool tables sit on either side of the staircase, and wax lamps flicker above and along the walls.

All five people in the bar turn to look at him as Eddie arrives.

“Evening,” Eddie mutters, tipping his hat and moving towards the bar, ignoring the eyes on his back.

The bartender has a tension to his spine, but a friendly smile. “Welcome, stranger. What c-can I get you?”

“Can I get a shot of something strong?” Eddie asks, taking a stool. “That was a Water-damned long ride.”

“You just get into town now?” the bartender asks, setting a shot glass down in front of Eddie. “It’s d-dangerous to be out on the plains at this time of night.”

Eddie shrugs, watching the bartender pour a long shot of tequila. He throws it back and lets the clean, sharp taste flood his mouth, washing the dust of the road out of his teeth. “I’ve been in far worse places than here.”

He hears the creak of floorboards as one of the other patrons gets out of their seat and heads towards the bar.

“I’ll take one of those, Big Bill,” the voice behind him says. It’s deep but rich with mirth, and Eddie swears he’s heard it before. “And another one for short stuff over here.”

“Kind of a dick move to insult somebody you don’t even know, don’t you think?” Eddie asks as the man leans against the bar next to him.

It’s the one who had his hat tipped down. The man’s face is broad and long, his dark brown hair down to his chin. His jaw is firm and well defined, the kind you could spend a long time exploring with your mouth. His eyes are wide and expressive, and his mouth seems to be stuck in a perpetual smirk. He’s wearing this ostentatious mustard yellow vest with little black crosses patterned on it, and despite the trench coat, Eddie can see that his denim hugs his hips in all the right places.

Eddie instantly finds him attractive. Shit.

“That’s what the drink is for,” the man says with a friendly smile, the deep timbre of his voice sending a shiver up Eddie’s spine. “To ease your poor hurt feelings.”

The man is definitely teasing. Eddie likes it far too much.

“Well, you’re not forgiven,” Eddie says, turning away. “But I’ll take that shot.”

“That’s an odd weaponry setup you’ve got there, stranger,” the woman says. Her tone is full of calculation; Eddie would bet his last coin that she’s never met a situation she couldn’t take advantage of. “Mind telling us about it?”

“I mind,” Eddie says. These people don’t need to know why he only carries smith-imbued weapons. He can feel the power thrumming in a room full of mages; they’re probably all bounty hunters too. Which means competition.

Eddie glances back at the tall man, who hasn’t taken his eyes off Eddie since he sidled up to the bar. His jaw is working, and his eyes are searching Eddie in a way that makes Eddie want to pull the collar of his coat up and turn away. Like he’s looking for something in Eddie, something he’s missed.

“You stare at strangers in bars often, mister?” Eddie asks, catching the shot glass that Bill slides him between his thumb and forefinger. He tips it towards the man and then throws it back.

“Only ones worth looking at,” the man says.

Eddie almost chokes on his alcohol, coughing as it goes down the wrong pipe.

“Richie,” calls the man still sitting at the long table. “Stop flirting and get me another damn drink, would ya?”

The man called Richie doesn’t look away from Eddie but lifts his middle finger towards his partner. His mouth is tight with a smirk, eyes dipped low, sultry. “Get it yourself, Stanley.”

“D-do you two know each other?” Bill asks, frowning and looking between Richie and Eddie.

Eddie holds his words back on the tip of his tongue. The answer should be easy, and yet something screams that it’s not.

The tension in the air is broken by the sound of the tavern door swinging open again. All parties in the room turn to look as a tall, broad-shouldered black man enters the room, He’s got no coat to protect him from the evening chill, and there’s a shiny silver star badge pinned to his tanned hide vest.

Sheriff Hanlon, Eddie presumes.

“Hey, Mike,” Bill says, his face lighting up with warmth in his eyes and a wide smile.

“Mr. Denbrough,” Mike replies, tipping his hat and winking. “Looks like nobody else is coming down the road tonight, and everybody obeyed the curfew. Now, seeing as I don’t recognize any of your faces,” he says, looking towards the rest of the room’s occupants, “I’m presuming you’re all here about the bounty?”

“That’d be correct for us two,” the man at the circle table says. “I’m Ben Hanscom, my partner here is Bev Marsh. You said there’s a curfew in effect here?”

“Pretty early curfew at that,” Bev says, shuffling the deck of cards, fingers curling with expert precision. “Never been to a town where you need to be inside before eight.”

“It’s temporary,” Mike explains, moving towards the bar. He settles on a stool, half seated, one leg still propped on the floor, as if he’s not ready to settle. Probably smart for the sheriff of a small town sitting in a bar filled with strangers. Mike motions between Richie and Eddie. “You two partners as well?”

Eddie feels the makings of a blush creep over his cheeks. “No, actually.”

“Sorry, Sheriff,” Richie pipes up, smirking. “Despite Mister short, dark and handsome over here looking like a good choice for a partner, I’m stuck with the scrawny bastard over there.” He motions towards the man at the long table.

The man rolls his eyes. “Sorry, Richie’s unable to enter a bar without zeroing in on the first available option to flirt with all night. It’s a sickness. I’m Stan Uris, he’s Richie Tozier.”

Mike nods his head, then looks back to Eddie. “And you?”

“Eddie Kaspbrak,” he says. “I work alone.”

He jumps when he hears the shatter of glass behind him.

Richie’s dropped his drink on the floor. His eyes are wide, mouth agape as his stares at Eddie, not moving, barely breathing.

“What?” Eddie asks. “You’ve heard of me or something?”

Richie says nothing, but Ben pipes up. “I have. You’re the only bounty hunter I’ve ever heard of who doesn’t have a partner. Heard a lot of rumors about why you do that too, but I wasn’t sure which one was true.”

“I think that’s starting to become clear,” Bev says, motioning to the guns on Eddie’s back. “No proficiency. Coal-damned terrifying. We should all be clearing out of this bar.”

“Richie, get your ass over here,” Stan snaps. It breaks Richie out of whatever spell his was in, and he stumbles off towards his partner, still glancing back at Eddie.

What the fuck is up with that dude?

“H-how’s that even possible?” Bill asks. His hands have frozen in the process of rubbing a glass clean, and there’s a nervous shake to his shoulders.

“You wanna explain, Mr. Kaspbrak?” Mike asks. “I’d rather not throw a man out of my town for no good reason.”

Eddie sighs and twists the shot glass between his fingers. “Look, I’ll tell you the same thing I tell everyone. I’m almost forty and I haven’t blown up myself or anything else yet. I just never seemed to lean one way or the other with Coal or Wood or Water. I’m a little weaker with magic than most as a result, but I’m also faster and quicker-witted than most as a trade-off. You’re more likely to have a powerful mage cause real damage with their proficiency than you are to have me blow up, because it’s never happened. So, relax.”

The explanation seems to have the right effect. Everyone looks a little less tense, relaxing back into their seats.

“Alright,” Mike says, nodding. “For now, that sounds reasonable.”

“Still keeping an eye on you, Kaspbrak,” Bev says.

There’s no malice to her voice, and Eddie can’t really be mad at the warning. It’s not every day you meet a mage with no proficiency; either they’re still a child or dead.

Anyway, Bev doesn’t seem to be the only one who can’t keep his eyes off Eddie. Richie’s still staring, mumbling things under his breath to his partner. Stan looks unfazed, sighing and mumbling something back.

“Now that we’ve gotten all introduced, how about I give ya’ll an explanation of what’s going on?” Mike asks. He motions to Bill. “Get them a round on me. They’re probably gonna need it, and they deserve it for coming out this far.”

Bill nods, setting five- no six- oh, seven glasses down on the bar. Looks like everybody’s gonna need a drink for this one.

Mike walks over to the table where Bev and Ben are flicking cards back and forth in a game Eddie has no idea how to play. “Mind if you clear these off for a minute? I need the space.”

Ben nods and gathers the cards up, winking at Bev. “That’s ten to eight, little lady.”

“As if, Hanscom,” Bev snorts. “It’s seven to nine, count again.” She’s biting back a delighted smile, and Eddie’s chest aches a bit to see the easy, comfortable way they get along. Eddie’s always wanted that with someone. He’s never going to get it, but by the Triad, he’s wanted it.

Mike spreads a large map over the whole of the table as the bounty hunters stand around it. Eddie rests his hands on the faded wood and studies the parchment.

The title is written in swirling handwriting: _Derry and Its Outer Limits_. Each building and house is drawn in neat, careful lines. The houses seem to be labeled by family name: _Widner, Patel, Sockowitz, Achebe, Lioe_ , to name a few _._ The map legend shows thar houses with Xs over them are abandoned; there’s at least a dozen of them, which, for a small town, is a big chunk of the population.

Eddie knows from asking around that this used to be a mining town, but when a major tunnel collapse brought the mine’s production to a standstill, the people living here had to find other ways to survive. Cattle ranching and wheat farming seemed to work for some, but others likely found opportunity elsewhere. Eddie gives the place another fifteen, twenty years, unless something changes.

The town only takes up about a third of the map. Surrounding it, the outlying areas include sections showing wheat fields and cattle pens, as well as landmarks like the beginning of the mountain pass to the north and the mine entrance to the west. The train tracks run through the town and turn to continue past the mine and off the page; back when the mine operated, the cargo would either be shipped south to Portland or west to Ottawa. To the east, the plains turn over into grasslands, and beyond the edge of the map, Eddie knows there’s a pinewood forest.

The only color on the map is red. Five red dots: one in a cattle pen, one in a wheat field, and three near the edge of the grasslands.

Mike points to the dot in the pen. “Two weeks ago, Mrs. Wagner was found dead in the cow pen by her poor son when she didn’t return home as she usually would after setting the cows down to bed. Her chest cavity was completely caved in.” His finger slides to the dot in the field. “Three days after that, Mr. Mori was discovered in the early hours of the morning by the farmhand he’d hired to help him harvest this year’s crops. His heart and head had been removed from his body.”

Finally, Mike moves his finger to the three dots. “A week ago, Mr. and Mrs. Fiore’s children begged their parents to let them camp out under the harvest moon. The two girls and boy were seen leaving town, despite telling their parents they were only going as far as the field behind the graveyard. When the Fiores couldn’t find their children, a search was conducted.” Mike taps his finger on the dots twice, curling the rest into a fist. “I found them by the edge of the grasslands. They were... mutilated. Barely recognizable. Even if the vultures had gotten to them, they’d only been gone half a day. Not long enough for birds to do that.”

“ _Fuck_. Poor kids.” Richie’s taken the place to Eddie’s right, though he seems to have finally stopped staring at Eddie and started paying attention to the job at hand. He scratches his jaw, the sound of his nails running over his stubble more distracting than Eddie would care to admit. “What about whatever did this? Sounds like it had hightailed it long before you found the bodies. How do you know what it looks like?”

Bill nudges between Mike and Ben, hold a tray of glasses. “Th-that’d be where I c-come in,” he says, passing them each a drink.

Eddie sniffs it. Whiskey. He takes a sip. Hmmm. _Good_ whiskey.

“I had already implemented the curfew after the kids died,” Mike explains. “Nobody’s supposed to be out of their houses past sunset, and if they can’t help it, they should be in groups of three or more adults. I figured since the thing hadn’t bothered to kill none of Ms. Wagner’s cows, the animals wouldn’t be in danger.” When Bill hands him a glass, Mike shoots him a sympathetic smile. “But Bill here didn’t agree.”

“I’ve got ch-chickens,” Bill says, “and a horse and two cows in my barn. What’ll I serve the customers if they’re k-killed?”

“Mhmm,” Mike says. Clearly, he doesn’t think that’s the real reason Bill was concerned. “Anyway, this Wood-damned fool decided to hold up in his barn that night, all by himself. I was restless and still awake, which was a good thing, because my deputies were patrolling together across town when I heard shooting. I was a spell of a lot closer.”

“I f-figured out quick that the thing only wanted me,” Bill says, shrugging. “So, I b-booked it out of the barn towards my bar.”

“Yeah, so instead of finding other people, he was gonna hide out in an empty building,” Mike grumbles. “How would that have been better than the barn?”

“I locked all the windows in here! It was more d-defensible” Bill exclaims. “And what was I supposed to d-do? Lead it somewhere to get more people k-killed?”

“No, you were supposed to get help and not go dying on me!” Mike retorts.

“Alright, alright!” Stan says, holding up his hands. “Let’s move past the lovers’ quarrel, shall we? Some of us are here to get work done.”

Mike sighs. “Sorry. Anyway, I got to Bill before the thing got to him and got a shot off on it. It fled out of town, but not before we both got a good look at it.”

“T-teeth,” Bill says, shivering. “Lots and lots of teeth.”

“Yeah,” Mike agrees. “It was on all fours, but I think it could’ve probably stood on two. Very lanky body, weird flower-shaped mouth, like petals unfolding that let us see all those teeth Bill mentioned. Spiky looking tails, at least two or three. I couldn’t see any eyes, but I wasn’t looking for ‘em. I think maybe it tracks people by another sense.”

“Possibly,” Ben says, nodding his head. “Potentially some sort of echolocation, like a bat.” He looks thoughtful, and Eddie expects he’s the kind of guy who reads a lot of books because he genuinely enjoys it, not to be seen as cultured.

“You find a blood trail?” Bev asks. “Some sort of sign of the direction it traveled?”

Mike shakes his head. “There were a few drops of this weird, black fluid on the ground where it was hit, but I think I only ended up glancing it. We didn’t see which way it disappeared.”

“I don’t get it, though,” Stan says. He folds his arms across his chest, biting his lip. “It’s one creature. Surely you and your deputies could take care of it.”

“Normally I’d agree with you, if I thought it was a normal creature,” Mike replies. “But the thing was hissing with black smoke.”

“A Coal Demon,” Eddie says. “Son of a bitch.”

Life springs from energy, and every person has at least a bit of it flowing through them. A mage has a lot of that energy inside of them, and a whole host of factors, from temperament to the month they were born in, can influence which proficiency they develop.

But sometimes, when mages work energy, they go a little too far. Pour too much of themselves into the material, until the path between man and material flows the opposite, and the man gets sucked dry. Then the material gets that life in it, instead of the man.

That’s how Demons come about. Some fool with dreams of powering a factory or blowing up a coal seam or drying out a lake takes it too far, and suddenly there’s a great, lumbering beast, looking for more material to power itself. Keep itself alive. Because humans keep that energy alive through things like eating or drinking, but Demons need that material to sustain themselves. And humans usually get hurt along the way.

Mike nods. “Now, if I’m guessing right, that thing is looking for fuel. My concern is that the coal mines out west send their train cars through our town, and if the thing gets the chance to get into that stock, it’ll gorge itself and, well, we all know what happens then.”

The group all solemnly nod to themselves.

Once a Demon gets too big, whole places get blown off the map. Forests burn, mines crumble, rivers and lakes run dry. Eventually, the thing can’t sustain itself and fizzles out, but not before destroying half of civilization in its wake. The last time a Demon got into a body of water, about fifty years back, it sucked up the whole lake and then burst into a tidal wave that killed tens of thousands and wiped out a whole city. Derry would be toast if this thing manages to find a source of energy.

“Have you sent a message to hold the trains back?” Richie asks.

He looks a lot paler than he was before, and Eddie can understand why. The worst person to be when a Demon comes around is a mage with the same proficiency as the thing is made of. Then the Demon doesn’t just feed on the material; it feeds on _you_. Eddie got a good look at Richie’s hands when he was at the bar – dusted with fine black powder – and the largest gun on Richie’s back is the medium-bodied barrel of a Coal gun. He’s definitely a Coal mage.

“We did,” Bill replies, shrugging his shoulders. “But you know magnates. All they c-care about is making money. They’ll hold off a few days until their p-precious bank accounts start feeling it.”

“It’s a Derry problem,” Mike explains. “So, if they lose some men or shipments while that thing is burning Derry to the ground, they’ll just send people out here next week to rebuild the tracks and keep on profiting.” His tone indicates a long history of dealing with this kind of attitude, which, as the sheriff of a small town, is to be expected. Nobody’s exactly marking Derry as _the place to be_ on a list of tourist attractions, or vital any industry. If this town was destroyed tomorrow, there would be few to mourn it.

“Capitalists,” Stan mutters, spitting on the wood floor. “At least we do actual damn work for our pay.”

“Anyway,” Ben says. “You called us out here because most bounty hunters are mages, I’m assuming?”

“Right,” Mike says. “I’m the only mage on the force; frankly I could count the number of mages in this town on my one hand. I can’t put my folks in that kind of danger. A magical problem requires a magical solution.”

Eddie’s got to hand it to Mike. He’s got a steady, logical head on his shoulders, which a lot of small-town sheriffs often don’t, so pre-occupied with ruling over their only bit of territory with an iron grip. Mike wants outside help; he’s not prideful about admitting they can’t handle this on their own. And as a result of that lack of pride, there are now five bounty hunters standing around a table in this little podunk town.

Well, that and the price tag.

“Explain something to me,” Bev says. “How’s a small town like this afford that kind of reward money?”

“We’ve g-got reserves,” Bill says. Bev levels him with a disbelieving look, but Bill looks right back, appearing cool and collected. “The town made a lot of m-money in the mines, and the council kept a portion for any m-major expenses. Plus, we’ve had folks chip in some savings. You’ll get p-paid.”

“It’ll have to be split among whoever decides to stay,” Mike cautions. “That means if all five of you take the job, it’s twenty-grand a piece.”

That’s still good money, and Eddie expects that, hearing the danger involved with a Coal Demon, any of these hunters who are Coal mages will have the good sense to get the spell out. Who knew Eddie’s lack of a proficiency would be so useful?

Oh. That means Richie will probably leave too. Not that Eddie _minds_ that or anything.

He glances over at Richie, but finds Richie’s already staring, sizing Eddie up. It’s a look far too familiar for a stranger to give another stranger. A person could get into a fight, gazing at someone like that.

Eddie looks back, even though his skin is prickling and there’s no desire to challenge Richie, only a deep curiosity.

“To thank you all for coming all this way, the rooms for the evening are on the house,” Mike explains. “Bill, I’m covering their charges.”

“The s-spell you are,” Bill says. He’s smiling though, no anger in his voice. “It’s my bar. So, nobody’s paying for board until that th-thing gets found and killed.”

“We don’t have to pay?” Richie exclaims, looking excited.

“For _board_ ,” Bill explains. “I’m still charging for b-booze, obviously.”

Eddie snorts, folding his arms. “Well, I’d be remiss to turn down your hospitality, Mr. Denbrough. Now if you’ll excuse me all, it’s been a damn long ride and I need to sleep it off.”

He tips his hat, turns, and follows Bill. If nothing else, he’s looking forward to a nice long night in a nice soft bed.

~

There’s a knock at Eddie’s door about twenty minutes later.

The room Bill put Eddie up in is small but cozy and well insulated; the cold prairie winds don’t leak through the wooden walls. There’s a wide bed that could fit a married couple, with a warm, well-kept quilt draped over it. Against the other wall is an old but sturdy dresser. On top of that sits a small stand mirror, a white terrycloth and a porcelain basin of water that’s been steaming ever since Bill dipped a single finger into the liquid, and his skin flushed red with the hot glow of life energy. A Water mage, then. It was momentarily surprising, but not every mage is a bounty hunter, so not every mage carries the telltale guns.

Eddie’s only gotten the opportunity to wash his face and hands of the dust from the road and kick off his boots when he hears the firm, steady raps against the door. He pauses in the middle of unbuttoning his vest, frowning in confusion. Did Bill forget to give him something or tell him something about the room?

When he opens the door, Richie is leaning against the jamb, arms folded across his chest, wearing another wry, humorous smile that Eddie swears must be his constant state of being.

“Can I help you?” Eddie asks incredulously.

“Potentially,” Richie replies. “Can I come in?”

“Are you armed?” Eddie asks.

Richie’s trench coat is gone, and he turns out the pockets on his slacks, then spins to show he’s taken his guns off.

“You can search me if you don’t believe me, “Richie says. “A good old-fashioned pat down.” He smirks. “Actually, I wouldn’t mind that.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “I’m not _that_ worried. Come on in.”

Richie leaves the door half open, which Eddie appreciates. A bounty hunter shut in a room with another unknown bounty hunter might have reason to be nervous. Most hunters don’t shoot one another on sight, but Eddie’s run into a few overzealous ones who want to eliminate the competition. If Richie seemed tense or was keeping his back to the wall, or checking for other exit routes, Eddie might have concerns. But Richie seems relaxed, shoving his hands into the pockets of his denim as he turns his back on Eddie and glances at himself in the table side mirror.

“Damn, you got one without a crack,” Richie says, straightening back up and turning to face Eddie. “Might need to pop in here in the morning for a shave.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow. “And what makes you think I’d let you?”

Richie smiles. “You wouldn’t have let me in here if you thought I might be dangerous, right?”

He takes a step towards Eddie and Eddie holds his ground, refusing to be intimidated. Richie’s legs are long, and the step brings him close enough that Eddie has to tilt his face up. He looks into this strange man’s eyes, sees the spark of intelligence and determination behind his gaze.

“So, I’m reasonably certain you’re not about to murder me,” Eddie states. “Doesn’t mean I’m interested in a morning visitor.”

“Most people aren’t interested in a late-night visitor, either,” Richie points out. “Most people would’ve shut that door in my face. But you didn’t. How come?”

Eddie shrugs. “You seemed like you needed to talk to me about something.”

“We don’t know each other,” Richie says. He takes another step, and now the distance between them could be described as _intimate_. Eddie swallows and refuses to move or look away from the challenge in Richie’s eyes. “What could I possibly have to talk to you about?”

“How the fuck am I supposed to know?” Eddie snaps. “You’re the one who came to me!”

Richie nods. “I’m surprised you’re still alive, with this cavalier of an attitude about letting mysterious men into your room late at night. Is this a usual occurrence for you, Mr. Kaspbrak?”

Oh, Eddie’s going to grow to hate that smirking smile. Not that he expects to be around Richie long enough for that.

“No,” Eddie says. He folds his arms in front of his chest as Richie leans closer. “I think you should leave, now.”

“Mmmm. I could,” Richie says. “I’m not looking to make you do anything you’re not interested in, Eddie. I just gotta wonder how a man who spends his life playing a careful game of kill or be killed is comfortable letting me get this close to him.”

Richie has a point. They’re barely a foot apart, and if he had a mind to, Richie could reach out and choke him, or shove a blade through his gut. Eddie should be feeling anxious, high on alert, ready to bolt.

And yet... he feels calm. A little nervous, maybe even a little excited?

But not afraid.

Eddie swallows dryly, wetting his lips with his tongue. Richie’s eyes zero in on that little detail and Eddie sharply pulls his tongue back into his mouth.

“Maybe I don’t find you as intimidating as you seem to want me to,” Eddie responds.

“Oh, believe me, intimidation is the last thing on my mind here,” Richie grins.

He raises his hands slowly, showing them wide and empty, before reaching out and resting one on each of Eddie’s elbows. It’s not exactly the most sensual of touches, but Eddie has to suppress a full-bodied shiver, and the urge to move closer instead of farther away.

None of this makes sense. Richie is right about every aspect of this encounter. A smart man would stop and question why his body isn’t tensing up when near this stranger. A smart man would put a stop to this, would shove Richie away and out the door and threaten to blow his head clear off if he tried this again.

Eddie isn’t always a smart man.

“What are you doing?” Eddie asks as Richie continues to lean in, achingly slowly.

“Giving you plenty of time to decide what you want,” Richie responds. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

The flickering candlelight contrasts Richie’s face sharply in half light, half shadow. Eddie’s eyes are locked on that face, as he gets closer. He could pull away at any time, he should pull away. But closer and closer Richie comes, eyes fluttering shut, and soon it will be awkward for Eddie to keep his own eyes open. Impolite to stare at a person you’re about to kiss. So, Eddie closes them.

Richie’s mouth meets Eddie’s, holding steady for a few seconds. His lips are a little dry, but not unpleasant. The kiss is perfectly perfunctory; nothing fantastic, and yet it sends lightning crackling down Eddie’s spine. Richie is a shock to his system, unlocking a bone deep ache; a live wire in Eddie’s chest.

Eddie surges forward, catching Richie off guard. He lets out a surprised yelp, but it doesn’t matter. Eddie has decided that he’ll be taking control. He grips his fingers into the meat of Richie’s upper arms and deepens the kiss.

Richie, to his credit, responds in kind. His hands slip down to rest on Eddie’s waist as he draws Eddie’s lower lip between his teeth and sucks gently, then harder, hungrily. Eddie is on fire, gasping as he burns through with a surge of lust that nearly knocks him off his feet.

Fucking spells, all this from a kiss? But it’s not just a kiss, is it? There’s a taste of _familiarity_ to it. Like coming home after a long while away.

Of course, that’s impossible. So impossible, that Eddie’s lust curdles into a bittersweet ache at the thought.

Eddie pulls back to find a red-faced Richie, pupils glazed and body still leaning hard into Eddie’s space.

“Why- why’d you stop?” Richie pants.

“I can’t do this,” Eddie says, shaking his head. “This is insane. I don’t even know you.”

Richie grins. “Oh, I’d like you to get to know me _very_ well, Eds.”

“Don’t call me that,” Eddie snaps, irritated. He steps away, fiddling with the buttons on his vest. “And this isn’t a conversation I can have right now. I need to sleep.”

It seems like Richie wants to protest, by the way his jaw works and the throaty little growl he lets out. Thankfully, he doesn’t. Instead, he sighs and tips his hat.

“Then I guess I’ll bid you goodnight for now.”

“If you would,” Eddie nods. Now he can’t meet Richie’s eyes. He doesn’t watch as Richie shuffles out the door and closes it behind him and certainly doesn’t note the five seconds of silence before Richie walks back to his own room.

What. The. _Fuck_. What the fuck even _was_ that? What is wrong with Richie, coming up into a stranger’s room to kiss him? And what is wrong with Eddie, letting him? Fuck, Richie could have weird diseases. He could be some sociopathic serial killer who wants to seduce Eddie and then kill him just as Eddie is about to-

Woah. Okay, full stop, Not going there.

The nagging little corner of Eddie’s mind where he’s yet to excise his mother’s voice screams that this is _wrong, wrong, wrong._

And yet the roiling heat in his gut, and the place in his chest that tightens when he pictures Richie’s smile – these tell him this is _right, right, right_.

Eddie groans to himself and goes back to working his outer layers off. If Richie were still here, he’d have probably noticed the insistent tenting of Eddie’s slacks, and then Eddie would really be in trouble.

He should stop worrying. Nothing will come of this. It hasn’t awoken anything in him.

It’s fine.


	2. The Loser Bunch

The sun is bright, and the sky is cloudless when Eddie wakes up the next morning. Amazingly, the water in the basin still retains some heat, enough to brush his teeth and then have a comfortable shave.

There’s no knock at his door, which is a relief. What if Richie had actually tried to come back?

Oh, Eddie’s fixated on this too much. It was an awkward exchange, and that’s it. Eddie’s made his position clear. If Richie tries it again, Eddie will do... something. Probably.

He comes down the stairs to find the rest of the hunters crowded together at the bench along the side wall. The other tables are packed with patrons: eating, playing cards, and being sociable. Small children run around the floors, chasing one another while parents shout at them to settle down. In a small town like this, the tavern seems to be the community gathering place.

The room quiets down as Eddie descends the stairs. Everyone knows everyone here, that’s for certain, so a stranger is something to notice.

Eddie tries to keep his expression composed. Times like this remind him of home, of being noticed for the wrong reasons. _Mrs. Kaspbrak’s boy. The weirdo. The proficiency-less. Don’t get too close, what if he goes off?_ He knows that’s not the read of the room here; they’re more curious than disgusted or scared. At least, they will be, until they see his guns. Then maybe some of them will have the good sense to look away. Eddie’s fine with that.

“Morning,” he says to the general vicinity of the room, before moving towards the long table. Ben and Beverly are on the bench close to the wall, and they scoot over to give him room, so he can turn his back to it. He’s grateful for that.

After he sits, the crowd seems to lose interest, returning to their other conversations.

“Sleep well?” Ben asks. He’s chewing a large piece of toast slathered in butter, and his smile is genuine and friendly.

“Mmmm,” Eddie agrees.

He glances across the table to Richie, who doesn’t acknowledge his presence. He’s drinking deeply from a cup of black coffee and has his body twisted on the bench, away from Eddie, looking off into the room. There’s an empty plate in front of him with saucy bits of egg shining on the surface. Bev and Stan are tucking into the same meal of over-easy eggs and thick, greasy sausages.

The smell hits Eddie’s nose and his stomach lets out an audible growl.

Stan snorts. “Get Bill’s attention and he’ll bring you a plate.”

Eddie spots Bill behind the bar, chatting with customers while he dishes out eggs from a tray on the bar and pours coffee. He’s monitoring the room, and sees Eddie’s raised arm, nodding back at him.

“So, what’s the consensus?” Eddie asks, turning back to the group. “I’m assuming we’re not all staying.”

Bev and Ben glance between themselves.

“We’re staying,” Bev says, stabbing a sausage with her fork. “We didn’t come all the way out here to not make a little money.”

Ben shrugs, motioning to Bev. “If Miss Coal Mage over here is fine with the danger, then I’m not willing to tell her no.”

“You could be a liability,” Eddie points out.

Bev points the fork at Eddie. “Pot, kettle.”

Eddie scowls. “Just because I don’t- _have a proficiency_ ,” he whispers, glancing around to see if anyone hears him, but no one seems to. “Doesn’t mean I’m putting anybody in danger. I can handle myself.” He looks to Stan next, since Richie still has his back turned. “What about you two?”

“We talked about it,” Stan replies. He elbows Richie in the side, jerking his head when Richie looks at him. “You wanna actually join the conversation, dipshit?”

“Eh, not really,” Richie says, finally swiveling to face them. He makes eye contact with Eddie, who starts drumming his fingers on the table; he’s only human, and Richie’s stare makes him feel restless. “So, you’re staying too, short stuff?”

“I’m literally average height,” Eddie shoots back.

Richie smirks. “You read that in a fancy book somewhere?”

“At least I _know_ how to fucking read,” Eddie says. He has no idea whether it’s an effective comeback, and Richie just grins, so it seems to have missed the mark. “And yeah, I’m staying.”

“Then I guess we’re all staying,” Richie says. Eddie sees the little eye roll Stan does, the meaning of which is unknowable. Eddie gets the sense that whatever they talked about, it wasn’t just whether the reward money was good enough to stick around.

Before Eddie can make another sharp reply, Bill appears at the table with a plate of food and a cup of coffee for Eddie.

“You g-get one meal on the house per day as p-part of the board,” Bill explains, setting the food in front of Eddie. “If you w-want more, you can p-pay me or find something at the general s-store.”

“Works with me,” Eddie says.

He picks up the toast and squishes it against the delicate skin of the egg, watching as the liquid inside bursts open and coats the bread. Oh, this is nice. He’s been eating mostly jerky and hardtack on the road, but with this warming his belly, he’ll be good for maybe the whole rest of the day. Not to give Richie any credit about sizing Eddie up, but Eddie’s not the biggest guy. He doesn’t need to eat a lot.

“Since you’re all here,” Bill says, “Mike t-told me to tell you that whoever is staying should head to the sh-sheriff’s office after breakfast.”

“It looks like that’s all of us,” Ben says, lifting his mug. “Could I get some more, Mr. Denbrough?”

“Of c-course. You can call me B-Bill, you know,” Bill says. He looks a little unsettled by the formality of Ben’s address. “Everybody does.”

“Ben’s the politest fucking bounty hunter you’ll ever meet, to a fault,” Bev explains, leaning into Ben and nudging him playfully. “It’s always _Missus_ this or _Mister_ that or _Mix_ such-and-such.”

“I have to make up for the fact that Bev has a mouth like a sailor,” Ben says, draping an arm over her shoulder. She laughs and twists her head to kiss him on the cheek. Ben’s eyes practically turn to hearts when she does.

Man, aren’t they... very obvious in their affection. Lucky they have each other.

There’s a deep longing twisting in Eddie’s chest, watching them. A dangerous thing. He smothers the feeling with bites of greasy sausage and egg, purposefully keeping his eyes down.

He’s afraid if he looks up, there might be another pair of eyes looking back.

~

The sheriff’s office is a few buildings down the street from the tavern, so after breakfast, the five hunters wave goodbye to Bill and head outside.

Bustling wouldn’t be the correct word for the main street of Derry. Populated is pushing it. There are about a dozen folks milling about, doing whatever small-town folk happen to be doing at nine in the morning. In front of the general store, one woman sweeps dust out of the door, while another stands at the top of a ladder, nailing a freshly painted T back in place. A man drives a wagon carrying hay barrels down the middle of the street, with two teenagers sitting beside him on the driver’s bench, playing Cat’s Cradle with some string. A man and a woman idle in rocking chairs on the porch outside of the tailor, and next door, a fellow ferries children into a one-room schoolhouse. A few more people are walking up or down the street, traveling to their next destination.

A group of five people walking down this street is conspicuous enough. Moreso when they’re strangers. The woman on the ladder turns to glance them over as they pass. The teenagers on the wagon – who’ve been bickering to each other – grow silent as the hunters move past. The fellow at the schoolhouse gives them a curious glance and quickly ushers the remaining children into the building before shutting the door.

“Betting these folks don’t see the likes of us around these parts too often,” Stan says to Eddie, who’s beside him. Bev and Ben are in the lead, and Eddie, Stan and Richie walk behind them. Eddie purposefully put a body between himself and Richie, and Stan doesn’t seem to mind being that body.

“They have to know we were coming,” Ben says, waving to the people in the rocking chairs. “The sheriff said everybody pitched in money to pay for this.”

“Doesn’t mean they have to like it,” Eddie says, shrugging. “Hunters usually mean trouble, whether or not we mean it to.”

“Trouble already arrived before we got here,” Bev responds. She seems to have a smart answer to everything. Eddie’s not sure yet whether he likes or hates that.

The sheriff’s office is small, with four desks and a cell that spans the width of the back wall. Mike is in conversation with three other individuals – two men and one woman, all sporting regular, non-magic guns on their hips – when they arrive.

“Morning, all,” Mike says in greeting. He motions to the surrounding people. “My deputies. Quentin Everett, Peter Galloway, and Rosa Nuñez.”

They all nod and mutter greetings to the hunters, more friendly than the townsfolk but less friendly than they probably are to other visitors. After two decades of this life, Eddie is used to it. He moves through the world as an unknown quantity, one of the less than five percent of people gifted with magic. It makes folk pause, some in awe, some in fear. They weren’t too big of fans of magic back home; some long dead mage had caused a spell of a lot of damage years back, and the townsfolk had never gotten over it. Even if he’d had a proficiency, he would’ve always stood apart.

“Let’s get down to business,” Mike says. He opens a drawer and pulls out three files of carefully organized papers. “I figure you all have your own methods of working, but I wanted to show you what we’ve documented so far before I send you off.”

Mike slides a packet of photographs – Eddie’s amazed that a small town like this has access to that kind of technology – out of the top folder, before passing it to Eddie. He lies the photographs out on one of the desks, while Eddie opens the folder and reads off the descriptive summary on the first page.

_Amelia Wagner, 43, found on the 23 of September at seven-fifteen am by her son, David Wagner. Ms. Wagner was splayed out on the ground on her back, eyes open and limbs lying in no particular way. Her chest, from collarbone to sternum, had been sliced open by long, jagged gashes, and she was missing her heart, lungs and liver._

“Gruesome,” Eddie mutters, flipping through the rest of the pages, mostly the report of the local doctor who had performed a post-mortem autopsy. The doctor, a _J. Okoye_ , identified the wounds as most likely being from animal claws, though found it odd that Ms. Wagner had been killed but none of her animals met the same fate, or even suffered wounds, after a thorough check of the herd and confirmation by her next of kin that no animals were missing. The only other damage to the pen was the cattle’s water trough, which had been smashed apart in some kind of tussle.

Eddie hands off the folder to Ben and peers down at the photographs. The description of gruesome is accurate; Ms. Wagner’s chest is an absolute wreck of mutilated muscle, skin and blood splattered all over the ground. There’s a distinct fear in her wide eyes, the knowledge of her own death foreseen in her expression.

Eddie shivers and look away to a different photograph. This next one is a close-up of her right arm, black-streaked palm open, with a glass lantern smashed beside it.

Hmmm.

“Was she a mage?” Richie asks, before Eddie can.

Mike nods. “Coal mage, that’s right. I get what you’re thinking, and it looks like she used that as lantern fuel, which probably made her a promising target. But Mr. Mori was a Wood mage. And one of the children had undefined magic and no coal with them. It wouldn’t make sense why they were attacked if this is a Coal Demon.”

They pass the folder around the group while the second set of photographs is laid out. The pictures show a headless body with its chest caved in draped over broken cornstalks, and a trail of broken stalks leading far into the distance. The ground is indiscernible from the dark coating of blood staining it. The skin at the top of the man’s neck is jagged, just as Ms. Wagner’s marks were.

“ _Fucking spells_ ,” Stan curses. “That’s a brutal way to go.”

“Maybe we should skip the kids,” Eddie suggests. “I think we get the point.”

The rest of the group nod vehemently in agreement.

Mike gathers the photographs back up and puts the files back. “You can come look at this stuff again if you need to. Otherwise, I leave you all to your job. Go find this thing and kill it before it kills someone else.”

~

When they get outside, the first thing Bev suggests is that they split up.

“We’ll cover more ground and get more information this way,” she explains. “Start interviewing the townsfolk, see if any of them have a clue about where this thing could be.”

Stan taps his forefinger against his lower lip. “I’m assuming you don’t expect this thing to just jump out of a basement. What I mean is, you don’t think we’re in any danger in town.”

“Not from a Coal Demon, no,” Bev says, shrugging her shoulders. “Maybe don’t piss off any of the locals and you’ll be fine.”

“Oh, gonna be tough luck there, Ms. Marsh,” Richie says, looping an arm over Stan’s shoulder. “Stan has mastered the skill of choosing the exact words needed to make anybody who meets him despise him within five minutes.”

“Is that me, Richard? Or is that you?” Stan retorts, shoving Richie’s arm off. He motions to Eddie. “You tell me, how fast did it take you to want to punch this man in the face?”

“No comment,” Eddie says; it’s vague enough that both Richie and Stan look like they’ve decided they’re the winner of the argument. “Anyway, I’m fine with splitting off for now. Let’s just meet back at Bill’s tavern around sunset. We can confer on what we’ve learned.”

Eddie heads through the alley between the general store and barber shop, back towards the first road with houses lined down it. He’s deciding who to approach first – the mother corralling two children or the older woman giving him a measured glare – when he hears, “hey, hold up!”

He turns to see Richie emerging through the alley.

“What?” Eddie asks, frowning. He kind of presumed after their whole awkward encounter last night that Richie would have the good sense to leave him be, but apparently the Triad decided beauty was more important than brains in this one.

Fuck, he’s obnoxiously attractive. Eddie would climb him like a-

Nope. Stopping that train of thought _right now_.

“Put your metaphorical guns away, short stuff,” Richie says, stopping in front of Eddie, body forming into an easy slouch. “I just wanted to see how you were doing this morning.”

“And you care because...?”

Eddie’s not a fool. He’s known enough con men who shower their lonely marks with attention. Maybe Eddie’s lonely, but he’s no damn mark.

Richie shoves his hands into his slacks, blowing the thin wisps of hair peeking out from under his hat out of his face. “Look, I’m not in the business of making the people I work with hate me, despite what Stan may say.”

Oh. So that’s what he’s on about? Not so confident as he was showing off in front of the others. “I don’t hate you,” Eddie says. “I barely know you. You came on a little strong, sure, but I’ve had worse. At least you stopped when I asked.”

“Have people... not? Before?”

Eddie can see the exact moment when Richie’s spine goes tense, when a shockingly powerful anger comes over his expression. One might call the tone of his voice _protective_ , which again seems like an overreaction about a person he’s just met.

“Would you be so charitable as to fill me in here?” Eddie asks. “We’re practically strangers, but you keep acting the opposite.”

“Mmmm. Yeah,” Richie says. His shoulders slump, and he rubs a hand forcefully down his face. “You remind me of somebody I used to know. And cared about deeply. I see you and I think about him.”

Well, that’s. Not what Eddie was expecting.

Still, it’s a better explanation than any of the paranoid reasons Eddie was coming up with, none of which cast Richie in a good light.

“I suppose I’ll take it as a compliment,” Eddie says after a time, nodding. “But you know I’m not this person, right?”

Richie barks out a laugh that’s weary, pained. “Believe me, I do. He’s six feet under and you don’t even make six feet over.”

Ouch. No wonder he’s out of sorts over it.

“I’m gonna ignore that, like a gentleman,” Eddie says. Probably best not to kick a man when he’s down. “I just need to know that this isn’t going to interfere with my job. I’ve got a living to earn and so do you.”

“Of course. Don’t think on it further.” Richie tips his hat to Eddie and turns. “Let me know if you need any help, Eds.”

“Don’t call me that,” Eddie says as Richie walks away. Richie’s definitely going to ignore that request, but at least Eddie put it out there.

So, Eddie reminds him of someone. Someone very dear to him. Eddie’s unfortunately got nineteen years of experience being compared to a dead man, and it’s an awful thing.

The frustrating part is, that Richie reminds Eddie of someone too. Someone it’s also impossible for Richie to be. So, it’s in both of their best interest to ignore this unfortunate complication and get the job done.

After that, they won’t have to see each other again. Won’t that be a relief?

(Maybe, if he tries hard enough, he’ll eventually believe it.)

~

The townsfolk are mostly polite but unwilling to divulge many secrets to this group of strangers. Eddie spends the afternoon chatting up the old and young, the able-bodied and crippled, anyone who’ll give him the time of day. He suspects that Mike encouraged his people to be honest with the hunters, but whether they took this to heart seems to change from family to family. Some refuse to open their doors, while some come out of their houses to chase after him and chat his ear off about any little thing that might have a vague connection to the deaths in town.

So far, it’s all been useless. Or, at least, nothing stands out. Eddie still takes shorthand notes in a weather-worn leather journal, using this fantastic little invention called a ballpoint pen that he’d picked up from a man down south. _It’ll never sell,_ the guy had said, _but here’s a sample for you, on the house!_ Eddie likes to take his jobs slow, mull over the information he’s collected. Plan the best avenue of attack. He’s taken down plenty of outlaws by the skin of his teeth, all because he’s prepared for every contingency.

Eddie bets Richie dives headfirst into every job without a care for his safety. Stan’s probably the only reason he’s alive.

There are plenty of places nearby that a wild animal could nest in. The mountains swell up behind the town, with little caves dotted around their exterior. The forest provides a large canopy of cover, and since the creature only seems to hunt at night, Eddie presumes it’s nocturnal. Then there’s the mine. If the beast really is a Coal Demon, it’s probably sucked the place dry of resources, but it might still be living there.

Several hours into Eddie’s search, a teenage boy waves him over between the alley of two houses.

“You’re one of the hunters, right?” he asks. His clothes are too small for his lanky frame, and the bags under his eyes suggest he hasn’t slept very well.

“I am,” Eddie nods. “You have some more information for me?”

The boy glances out of the alley, looking around with wide, frightened eyes. “I found something out in my uncle’s field last night, but I haven’t shown it to anyone yet.”

“What kind of thing?” Eddie asks.

“I think it was Mr. Mori’s trench coat,” the boy says. “But it had this weird black stuff on it?”

Eddie remembers Mike talking about the black liquid that leaked from the creature. He would bet good money it’s the same stuff.

“You didn’t report this to the sheriff?” Eddie asks.

The boy shakes his head, looking down. “I um, found it when I was out last night. Past the curfew. Didn’t wanna get in trouble, but... didn’t feel right keeping it when it might help find the thing hurting everyone.”

Eddie smiles and clasps the boy’s shoulder. “You did the right thing. I can take it to the sheriff for you. No promises, but I think you finding a clue might override the whole curfew problem.”

“Yeah, okay,” the boy says, smiling back a little. “It’s at my house, I’ll show you.”

The boy’s house is back down the alley and down a narrow street that looks like it’s seen better days. The boy’s appearance makes sense, if these people don’t have as good of fortunes as those near the main street. Nobody is around either, which, considering how many houses are boarded up, isn’t surprising.

They reach a small house with shutters hanging off their hinges.

“My uncle’s out in the field,” the boy says, swinging the door open and stepping inside. “He won’t even know you’re here.”

Eddie follows him through the threshold. “Yeah, he’d probably give you shit for-“

There’s a loud _crack!_ Eddie doesn’t register that it’s the sound of something striking his own skull until he finds himself looking at the floor, which is far closer to his face than it normally is.

Dazed, he tries to understand what’s happening as two sets of hands grab his arms and yank them behind his back, dragging him to his feet. He tries to kick and twist out of the grip, but the hit to the head completely fucked up his reaction time. When he opens his mouth to shout, something made of cloth is shoved between his teeth, muffling his yell.

His brain is only capable of a long string of expletives, most of them the words _fuck shit fuck shit_ repeatedly. The room is spinning, finally coming to a stop when he’s shoved down into a chair. Somewhere along the way, somebody tied his hands behind his back, so he has no way to balance himself until he gets his footing on the floor.

Eddie blinks slowly, groaning. His vision wavers, but finally holds on the form of an older, thin man standing in front of him, arms crossed and glaring. Eddie has the ridiculous thought for a moment that the boy’s uncle _really_ doesn’t like trespassers until the man opens his mouth.

“Good work,” he says, nodding to the teenage boy who is lounging against the wall. Thy boy’s naïve waif expression has turned downright nasty and smug.

Wood-damn it, leave it to Eddie’s soft spot for kids to get him in trouble.

Eddie’s head lolls, but someone behind him grabs the top of his hair and yanks it up, making him wince in pain.

Okay, okay. At least three people in here, then. Even through the haze of the blow, he’s still calculating, trying to figure a way out of this.

The thin man squats down in front of Eddie, looking him over.

“Mr. Kaspbrak,” he says, grinning. “You’ve got a meeting with our boss to attend. He’s very excited to see you again.”

Eddie makes a confused sound as the teenage boy turns to the thin man and says, “I should go let them know we’ve got him.”

The thin man waves him away. “Get going. We’ll move him when it gets dark.”

The boy smirks and winks as he passes Eddie. “Thanks for making it easy, sucker.”

Once the boy is gone, the thin man reaches up and grips Eddie’s chin with two iron fingers. “The boss has been looking for you for ages. Can’t believe we lucked out and stumbled on you in some backwater hole like Derry. What, you thought heading east would let you get away from the Bowers Gang?”

 _Oh, fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck_.

Twelve years, and what Eddie thought was enough distance between him and his past, and it shows up in the last place he expected.

Eddie gets his teeth into the gag and spits it out, full force, before sucking in a breath and screaming, “HELP HELP-!”

He only gets out two cries before they shove the cloth back in his mouth, and this time they tie another one around his head to keep him from doing that again.

“You think anybody’s coming, idiot?” the thin man spits. He smacks Eddie hard across the face, blooming a new shock of pain on his cheek, “There’s nobody back here except for burned-out houses. Your luck’s run out, Kaspbrak. The boss has been waiting a long, long time for this. He’s going to savor it.”

Eddie remembers what Henry Bowers did to the outlaws in his gang who displeased him. He doesn’t want to imagine what he does to his enemies.

It’s not Eddie’s fault that he crossed paths with Henry Bowers. It was a job gone wrong, and Eddie was too new to bounty hunting to realize when to let sleeping dogs lie. He barely escaped with his life that time, and Bowers’ yells echoing in his ears, cursing him, promising revenge.

Derry’s a long way away from that town, and Eddie kept moving east, but there’s only so far to go before you hit ocean and have to turn back around or head north. Apparently, he didn’t go far enough.

Eddie hears the _thwick_ of a knife, freezing as the thin man stands up and leans over him, twirling a switchblade between his fingers. Carefully, he traces it down the old, faded scar down Eddie’s left cheek.

“Convenient, that the boss gave you a way to easily identify you,” the man says, smirking. He switches the blade to his other hand and presses the tip to Eddie’s right cheek. “Maybe I should give it a match, to bring things full circle.”

A loud _BANG_ echoes in the room, and the thin man’s brain, once contained in his skull, ejects sideways, splattering against the wall, the floor, misting the air with blood and bits of flesh, some of which definitely gets all over Eddie’s face and clothes – fucking _disgusting._

A softer but faster _SHHHK_ comes from the opposite side of the room. Eddie hears a body collapse to the floor behind him.

A thick trail of black smoke curls in the air, tracing the direction the bullet traveled. The origin of the smoke begins at the window that Richie is climbing through now, a furious fire in his eyes.

Eddie blinks woozily and hears the door slam open behind him.

“Easy there, cowboy,” says a voice that sounds a lot like Stan. Gentle, careful hands work at the rope around Eddie’s wrists, cutting away the fiber and freeing Eddie’s hands.

Richie is there to catch Eddie’s shoulders as he tips forward. He unties the gag, wrenching it off Eddie’s face.

Eddie takes great, heaving gasps, and his forehead somehow finds Richie’s shoulder; warm and welcoming. Richie doesn’t shake him off.

“Just breathe, short stuff,” Richie mutters. “You’re okay now.”

Eddie nods into his shoulder and seeing as someone’s here to make sure he doesn’t hurt himself, takes the opportunity to pass the fuck out.

~

Okay, it’s not as dramatic as it sounds, since he only passes out for maybe a minute.

When he comes to, there are more voices and a hard, wooden wall against his back. He’s sitting on the floor, with several familiar bounty hunter faces peering down at him in various stages of concern.

Mike comes in, takes one look at Eddie and goes to get the town doctor. The man checks him over, declares him concussed and to immediately take to bed. Eddie doesn’t remember much about the events during this time, except for the feeling that someone always has a hand on him, guiding and making sure he doesn’t fall. He’s got enough sense to kick off his boots when they get him back to his room at the tavern, and Bill produces some kind of herbal tea that’s supposed to ease pain and help you get to sleep.

When Eddie wakes hours later, the room is lit by candles. He’s got a pounding headache, he thinks he may have vomited somewhere between the shack and the tavern, and he knows if he tries to get out of bed by himself, he’ll land face first on the floor.

“Fucking spells _,”_ Eddie groans, turning over.

He’s prepared to call out for somebody, only to see Richie and Stan in chairs facing one another, a chess board propped up on a wooden barrel between them, slowly working their way through a match.

“Look who’s rising and shining,” Richie says. “You get enough beauty sleep?”

His tone is teasing, but there’s a waiver of concern underneath.

“Apparently not, if I woke up to you two,” Eddie retorts, blinking blearily. “A man can’t get some rest in peace?”

“Doctor said to monitor you for the next several hours,” Stan responds, moving his white knight to capture Richie’s black rook. “Make sure you don’t start seizing or bleeding from your nose and ears. We’re taking shifts.”

“That’s... thank you,” Eddie says honestly. He can’t remember the last time someone cared enough to make sure he was okay. He knows the adage that hunters should stick together, watch one another’s back, but he figured it usually applied to pairs and trios. Not to strange hunters you’ve known for only a day.

“What was that all about, Eddie?” Richie asks. “I don’t enjoy killing folks unless I can help it.”

Eddie closes his eyes, making a disgruntled noise. “I’d rather not talk about it, if it’s all the same to you.”

There’s a beat of silence, which Eddie will interpret as acceptance, for the sake of not making his headache worse.

“You want anything to eat or drink?” Richie asks.

“Don’t know if I could keep anything down,” Eddie replies. He can still taste the lingering acidic burn of vomit on his tongue. “But something to wash my mouth out would be nice.”

Eddie hears wood scraping across the floor and someone rising to their feet.

“I’ll get you something. Stay put,” Stan says.

Eddie snorts, because _obviously._

The door creaks open and shuts. Eddie keeps his eyes closed as the other chair scrapes the wood and heavy boots _thunk_ across the floor. He peeks one eye open when he feels the bed dip.

Richie sits on the edge, leaning forward into Eddie’s space.

“Hey,” Richie says. “Open your eyes for a second.”

Eddie blinks both eyes open as Richie raises his index finger.

“Do me a favor and just follow this with your vision,” Richie says. “Don’t move your head.”

“What the fuck’s that supposed to do?” Eddie grumbles. He still feels exhausted, even though he can tell through the moonlight creeping in through the cracks in the shutters that he’s been sleeping for hours.

“Just do it,” Richie scolds.

Eddie can’t even roll his eyes without pain lancing through his forehead, so he does as Richie asks. Richie slowly moves his finger up and down, left and right, straining to the edge of Eddie’s vision.

“Okay,” Richie says, dropping his hand to the bed. “Just checking.”

“Thanks for the physical, doc,” Eddie grumbles, because he’s irritable, and he’s got no patience for nonsense. Even if it seems like Richie was trying to be nice.

“Now that I know you’re not brain damaged, next question. What the fuck were you thinking, idiot?” Richie snaps. “Falling for a clear trap like that.”

“Hey, I was being careful!” Eddie says. “It’s just, Mike said he kept the details of the deaths under wraps. So, when the kid said he found something with that black blood or whatever it is, I figured there was no way he could’ve faked that detail.”

“Well, looks like it’s not a secret anymore.” Richie sighs, running a hand back through his hair. For a split second, Eddie gets the unnerving sensation of deja vu, but then Richie’s moving on. “Still, I can’t believe you’re still alive, what with nobody watching your back and being on Henry Bowers’ shit list.”

“Can’t catch a man who doesn’t stay in one place very long,” Eddie points out. That’s been his modus operandi for the past decade, and it’s worked, until about six hours ago. “The kid tell you anything?”

“The kid got away,” Richie says.

Eddie’s stomach drops, and he jerks up, grabbing the outer lapels of Richie’s vest – blue and patterned with flowers, the fancy bastard – for balance. “Why the fuck did you let him escape?!”

“We were kind of focused on making sure you stayed alive, asshole!”

Richie is yelling, but Eddie’s moved past that, shoving Richie away and jerking his feet in to pull them out from under the quilt. He’s stopped short by Richie’s hands grabbing his arms.

“The fuck are you doing?” Richie asks.

“Getting up.” Eddie grits his teeth and tries to pull away from Richie, only to be met with a firm grip and a wave of vertigo that leaves him gasping and leaning against Richie’s shoulder. “Fuck. I need to get out of here, _now_.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Richie chides. “The doc said you need bed rest for at least twenty-four to forty-eight hours, and your symptoms won’t clear up fully for a good week. You think you can get on a horse in this condition?”

Eddie shakes his head, immediately regretting it and jamming his eyes shut. “Fuck... you don’t understand! The kid will report back to the gang where I am and when their boys don’t show up there, they will come _here_. I need to be gone when that happens, understand? For everyone’s sake.”

“You make it sound like he’ll burn the damn town to get to you,” Richie says.

Eddie lets the beat of silence hold.

“Wait, are you serious?”

“I fucked him over really bad, Richie,” Eddie says, sighing. “If you know anything about Bowers, it’s that he holds a grudge for a long, _long_ time.”

“Hmmmm,” Richie says.

“Hmmmm what?”

“Just that you seem like the world’s least intimidating bounty hunter and I can’t imagine you having the nerve to do something that would piss him off.”

“Hey, fuck you! I’m a damn legend.”

“A damn legendary idiot, that’s what you are,” Richie says, shoving Eddie back down onto the bed, where he lands with an ungraceful _thump_. “You wouldn’t even make it out this door if you tried to get up now. Stay there and heal. We’ll handle Bowers if he shows up.”

Eddie lets out a strained laugh. “Are you fucking joking me? Who’s the ‘we’ in this scenario?”

“Me and Stan and Bev and Ben and Mike. The deputies. Maybe Bill.”

“And they’re all just going to agree to protect a guy they’ve known for less than a day? How do you figure?”

“They will when I remind them how much reward money Bowers’ head is worth. And I’ll bet the sheriff doesn’t want Bowers showing up later and making trouble for him. Besides, Bowers is a piece of shit and any of them would be glad to get the chance to take him out.”

“Richie, please. Tie me to my fucking horse if you have to,” Eddie pleads. “I can’t have the blood of a whole town on my hands!”

Richie rolls his eyes, because unlike Eddie, he doesn’t have a traumatic brain injury and can still do these things without pain. “You’ve got quite a flair for overdramatic nonsense, don’t you? Nope, sorry. If anything, I’ll be tying you to the bed if you try to leave.”

Eddie groans and rolls over, burying his face into the pillow. He can’t even think of a proper argument, because his higher brain functions are being overridden by pain, exhaustion, and anxiety.

Richie doesn’t understand. He hasn’t seen the destruction Bowers has left in his wake. Eddie’s been running from the nightmares just as long as he’s been running from the man.

Eddie feels Richie’s hand splay across the back of his shoulder, warmth seeping through his shirt, onto his skin. It’s the first good sensation he’s felt in hours, and he bites back a groan, cursing his touch sensitivity.

“Hey,” Richie says, rubbing circles into his shoulder. “It’ll be fine. You should focus on resting and healing.”

“You assholes had better not kill that Demon without me,” Eddie mutters into the pillow. “I didn’t come out here and deal with this shit to not get paid.”

Richie snorts and pats his shoulder. “We’ll see what happens, Eds.”

“Don’t fucking call me that!”


	3. The Assassination of Eddie Kaspbrak by the Coward Henry Bowers

Eddie spends much of the next day drifting in and out of restless sleep. Somebody was kind enough to leave a chamber pot next to the bed, so he doesn't piss himself attempting to get to an outhouse, and he'll wake to food that he nibbles at and water to drink - clean for a desert town, probably Water mage filtered- before falling back asleep.

All the other hunters check in on him, wishing him good health, but Richie's the one who's there more often than not when Eddie rouses. Their talks are never brief and always entertaining - Richie's got a wicked sense of humor that Eddie works hard to match - cutting through the monotony of bed rest. Richie makes sure Eddie’s comfortable, keeps his spirits up with jokes and gentle teasing, and fills him in on details of how the hunters’ investigation is going. Eddie must admit, it’s nice to have somebody beside him when he’s feeling low.

Eddie’s headache subsides by the dawn of the third day, and he's able to get up and walk about the room normally. He's still overtired, but he can't stand to be in this room for another minute, so he slowly dresses himself and opens his door.

The tavern is empty except for Bill, Ben and Bev. Bill is behind the bar, wiping glasses clean, and Ben and Bev are poring over the town map. They stop talking and look up to watch Eddie descend the stairs.

"Well, look who's up and moving around!" Ben says, grinning. "Welcome back to the land of the living."

"Is he always this cheerful this early?" Eddie grumbles, slumping into the seat next to Bev. Even that short walk has left him tired.

Bev snickers. "You get used to it. It's actually quite charming when you do."

"I'll pass," Eddie says, yawning. "Hey, Bill, you got anything back there that's bland and filling? I could eat." That's an understatement, if the yowling his stomach is making is anything to go by. He hasn't had a proper meal in three days, but he doesn't want to risk something too flavorful that would trigger his nausea again.

"I think the last of the oatmeal from the morning rush is still warm," Bill says, putting down the drying cloth. "I'll get you a bowl."

"You're a saint," Eddie responds, wincing as a sharp pain throbs through the front of his skull. "Fuck me, is this headache ever gonna go away?"

"Well, even though it might’ve been traumatic, your little incident was kind of a boon," Bev replies. "Apparently you're a charmer. People who you'd interviewed that morning heard you'd been hurt and talked you up to the rest of the town. 'A polite, friendly man' was the consensus."

"A lot better than their opinion of Richie," Ben says, smirking into his drink. "Although when they found out Richie and Stan busted in and saved you, that changed their tunes."

"People have been a lot more forthcoming with information," Bev says, nodding. "Not a lot of _useful_ information, mind you. We were already pretty sure that the Demon is hiding out in the mines, but what we've heard confirms it. Weird noises coming from that direction during the night, mutilated desert animals on the way between. That sort of thing."

"The mine's about a mile out from here, right?" Eddie asks. "Enough distance from civilization for a nocturnal creature to be comfortable making a den."

"Exactly," Ben says.

Bill emerges from the door to the back room behind the bar, carrying a bowl carefully between his hands. He sets it in front of Eddie. The oatmeal looks a little dried out, but Eddie dives in anyway, making delighted noises as Bill drops into the chair next to Ben.

"Mike wanted to know if you th-think you'll be recovered enough to scout the area t-tomorrow."

"I expect so," Eddie says through gulping mouthfuls of oatmeal. "I've had the odd concussion or two in the past, and I heal really easy. Especially when _some_ people are forcing me to stay in bed."

"Well, nobody would force you if you just stayed put," Bev says sagely, folding her arms. "It's clear you haven't had anybody around to watch your back, thinking you were just gonna strap yourself to a horse six hours after a major head injury. Fucking honestly, Kaspbrak."

Eddie glares at her. "I've made it four decades fine without your mothering, Marsh."

She snorts, rolling her eyes. "I'm not the one who's been mothering you. Consider yourself lucky that Stan has the good sense to drag Richie out of your room, or he'd never leave." She frowns. "I've never seen a person so enamored by a stranger- you two don't know each other, right?"

"As far as I know, no," Eddie says, shrugging. He's not going to spill the beans on Richie and his _you-remind-me-of-a-dead-friend-and-now-I'm-obsessed-with-you_ situation. Doesn't seem polite, really.

Eddie should probably talk to Richie about the doting; as much as he hates to admit, he might be letting it go on for longer than it should. He’s definitely taking advantage of Richie’s kindness and attention. But it's not like he's ever gotten a lot of it! And Richie's more than willing to give it.

Still. Maybe he needs to reassert boundaries, if what Bev is saying is correct.

"Where are the other two, anyway?" Eddie asks, licking his lips as he finishes the oatmeal.

"Talking to more townsfolk," Ben replies. "Mike wasn't here when the mine was in operation, and some older folk worked there, so they've got good information on the layout and what we might find down there."

"I'm surprised anybody bothered to move here after the mines closed," Eddie says. "I assumed people would do the opposite."

"Mike's family wasn’t supposed to b-be here long," Bill says. His gaze drops to his lap as he folds his arms, seemingly nervous. "His parents were traders, p-passing through a few years after it closed. B-but there was a fire at the old inn and they d-died."

"Fuck," Bev says, eyes wide. "That's awful."

Bill nods. "My f-folks took him in. My little brother, Georgie..." There's a definite struggle in his expression as he tries to continue. "...he'd died a f-few years back. I think my folks were looking for another k-kid to give that love to."

"So that's why you two are so... friendly," Eddie states, trying to find the right words. Some of the looks he's seen Bill give Mike stretch far past the point of _friendly_.

Bill smiles to himself - a soft, secret thing that comes when remembering something pleasant. "We'd already g-gotten friendly the first few days. But yeah, Mike's always b-been there for me."

Eddie's tempted to ask him what _there_ entails when they all hear commotion and shouting from outside the tavern.

"The fuck...?" Bev asks. She rises, along with Ben. Their immediate instinct is to reach for their pistols, arming themselves as they step outside the door.

"Sounds like t-trouble," Bill says, standing up at the same time as Eddie. "Maybe you should go back upstairs?"

"Not gonna happen," Eddie says. "You stay inside though. We'll handle whatever it is."

The sun is bright overhead as Eddie emerges from the tavern, blinking to clear his vision and take in the scene before him.

Bev and Ben haven’t left the porch, and Richie and Stan are also there, standing at the edge of the porch, facing out into the street. Mike and his deputies are farther up the street, coming out of the sheriff's office. A few townsfolk are peeking out of the other stores or slipping their way into alleys and behind buildings, frightened at the appearance of three figures at the end of the street, walking towards the hunters.

When Eddie realizes who they are, every inch of his body breaks out into a cold, fearful sweat, and his heart begins to pound.

Oh _fuck_. Fuck, fuck, fuck, _fuck!_

It's Henry Bowers.

Even after twelve years, Eddie recognizes the wide face, covered in scars, set with an insane-looking smile that speaks to the cruelty hidden in the man behind it. He's rougher around the edges, with graying hair and ragged tears to the bottom of his trench coat, but he still strikes a powerful, domineering figure as he stalks forward, coming to a stop about thirty feet away from Richie and Stan.

Bowers raises his hand and jabs a finger, pointing at Eddie.

"Eddie Kaspbrak!" he shouts in a strained, raspy voice. "Your running ends here!"

Bill stands next to Eddie, peering around him out the door.

"That's Henry Bowers?" he asks, frowning. "Man, he j-just looks like an asshole."

"You have no idea," Eddie mutters. He clears his voice and shouts back, "You know, this is unnecessary, Henry! Can't we just let bygones be bygones?"

Bowers cackles, folding his arms. "If you think that's possible, then you don't know me as well as you think, you cowardly little maggot!"

"Now that's just rude," Bev says. "What's his deal with you, anyway?"

"To give the short answer, I completely fucked up a train robbery he was trying to pull off," Eddie says, leaning against the doorjamb for support.

Richie, in the meantime, has taken a step forward. "You know, it's rude to have a conversation with one person during a group meeting!"

"You shut up! This doesn't concern you!" Bowers screams, enraged that anyone dare interrupt his attempt at intimidation and dominance. He quickly refocuses back on Eddie. "Now Eddie, you can make this easy on everyone, and come along with us. If you do, I won't need my boys to come by and _escort_ you out of town. You know how people _tend to get hurt_ when that happens." He grins wide, menacing.

Oh, Eddie knows, alright. He's been through enough ghost towns, the wreckage of Bowers' violence in his wake. Towns with much better defenses than this backwater little place.

And for all that Richie talked up _dealing_ with Bowers, now that he's here in the flesh, Eddie's conscience can't let them go through with it. People will get hurt, will probably die, all in a foolish attempt to keep him safe. He can't allow that to happen.

So, even though he's terrified, Eddie takes two more steps out onto the porch, drawing everyone's eyes as he curls his fists and shouts, "Fine! Let's go."

He can hear the murmurs breaking out in the crowds as he takes two more steps down the porch stairs to the dusty, cracked ground.

Immediately, Richie is there, standing in front of him with an iron grip on Eddie's shoulder.

"Don't you fucking _dare_ ," Richie hisses. "Are you insane? He'll kill you!"

"If I don't, he'll kill everybody else!" Eddie hisses back, trying to push past Richie. Except Eddie's still weak and Richie easily keeps him in place. Eddie meets Richie’s furiously panicked gaze with a desperate one. "Richie, please… I told you. I can't have that much blood on my hands. I'm not that kind of person."

Richie glances between Eddie and Stan, who is looking expectantly at Richie, like he believes Richie will know exactly what to do. It's a look Eddie’s never seen Stan give anyone else.

Oh, Eddie realizes. _This_ is why they're partners. Because Stan believes that when there's no good way out of a situation, Richie will find one.

Richie looks back at Eddie with some kind of realization dawning on his expression.

"Stan," Richie says. "Bev, Ben. Don't let Eddie leave this porch."

Richie lets go of Eddie when the three other hunters grab Eddie and yank him backwards.

"Richie, the fuck?" Eddie yelps, struggling against them.

Richie turns away, stepping towards Bowers.

"Listen, despite the twerp's unbearably pure morals, we're not just letting him waltz out of here," Richie explains. "So, here's the deal. I'll duel you for him."

"What?" Bowers says, at the same time that Eddie shouts " _WHAT?_ " and tries to lunge out of their grasp. Too many strong hands hold him back.

"That's right," Richie answers. "A gun mage duel. To the death, if you like. If you win, Eddie goes with you. Not like I can stop that if I'm dead. But if I win, your boys walk out of here and don't come back."

"And what kind of benefit do I get out of that?" Bowers sneers. "I could just tell you to fuck yourself and come at you with my whole gang."

"You could," Richie says, nodding. "But even if you win, even if you kill every person in this town, your boys won't escape without casualties. See, I hear you're in your waning days, Bowers. Your little band of outlaws is shrinking, and it'll only get smaller if you send them here. And will they really think it's worth it, all over one little old bounty hunter that the boss still has a grudge against?" Richie clicks his tongue, and though his back is to Eddie, Eddie bets the bastard has the smuggest smile on his face. "So, this is your best option."

Eddie's going to kill him. This fucking _asshole_ \- what the spell does he think he's pulling?

"Richie!" Eddie yells. "Don't you even _think_ -"

"Too late for that, short stuff," Richie says. "So, what'll it be, Henry?"

Bowers looks furious, but he also looks thoughtful; something Eddie was sure he wasn't capable of. He glances between his two men, before snapping at the one on the right, "Hockstetter. Take care of this fool."

"Not going to fight me yourself?" Richie asks. "Real brave of the guy who just called another man a coward."

"SHUT UP!" Bowers shrieks back. "You think I'm going to waste my life on a _nobody_ like you? You want your deal? Fine! My man against yours, Kaspbrak."

"This isn't my deal!" Eddie shouts, still struggling ineffectively against the other three hunters.

"Hey!" Mike says, finally drawing all of their attentions. "If you're going to do this, take it out of town. No need for anybody else to get hurt."

Richie nods, tipping his hat to the sheriff. "Understood. That alright with you, Bowers?"

"Fine," Bowers says, scowling. "Doesn't really matter to me where you die."

"Stan, are you with me?" Richie asks. Stan lets go of Eddie, which Eddie would take advantage of, except Bev and Ben are doing fine on their own keeping him held in place.

"We'll join you," Mike says, motioning to his deputies to follow. "To make sure Bowers keeps his word." He looks around to the townsfolk, waving his arms. "Everyone get back inside, right now! Do not come out until I tell you to!"

"RICHIE!" Eddie yells as Bev and Ben drag him backwards.

The last thing Eddie sees is Richie turning back to give Eddie a soft smile, before they shut the door in Eddie’s face.

"Eddie, calm down!" Ben says, shoving him down into a chair that Bill has oh so helpfully pulled out from one table. "This isn't going to help you recover."

Eddie gapes at him incredulously. "This, _this_ is what you're worried about? Not that idiot out there, with a half-cocked, fucking _bullshit_ plan that will get him killed?!"

Bill rests a warm hand on Eddie's shoulder. "R-Richie'll be okay, Eddie," he says.

"You don't know that!" Eddie yelps. "You can't know that!"

His vision is blurring, and for a moment he thinks it's an effect of his injury, until he feels the hot, wet lines crawling down his cheeks.

" _Fuck_...!" Eddie's voice cracks high, and he curls his arms around himself and bends over, dropping his head.

He hates letting anyone see him cry. And that's what he's doing, crying over some stupid stranger who's shown him more kindness, care and attention in three days than anyone has in twenty years.

The room is quiet for what seems like hours. Just Eddie curled in on himself, weak and exhausted and hating this, the waiting, the not knowing. What if Bill's wrong? What if that door opens and Bowers is on the other side? Eddie doesn't have his guns on him, but it can't be too hard to snatch one of Bev or Ben's and take himself out. Better to go quick than whatever torture Bowers has in store for him. Better to die than to have the knowledge for the rest of his short life that Richie... that he...

Eddie's head shoots up at the distant sound of gunshots. He starts to hyperventilate - it's been years since he’s had an anxiety attack, but he can feel the telltale tightening of his chest, the way his thoughts start racing. Imagining the worst, imagining Richie's kind eyes wide and lifeless, his body sprawled out on the ground, half his head missing-

"Eddie," Bev is saying, shaking his shoulders. She's kneeling in front of him, trying to assess what's going on. "Hey, listen to me. Even if Richie doesn't win, we will not let Bowers take you."

Eddie is about to explain that it's not his most pressing concern when he hears whistling and cheering and clapping coming from outside the door.

He tries to stand but Ben, the big beefy bastard, keeps one hand on Eddie's shoulder.

“Sorry, bud. You're not going anywhere,” Ben says. With his other hand, he reaches behind himself and pulls the large-mouthed pistol of a Wood mage off his back. Bev steps next to the door, her own Coal pistol cocked as she carefully twists the handle and glances outside.

"Well?" Eddie asks, on hooks and needles.

Bev glances back at Eddie, smiles and throws the door open.

Richie and Stan stand in the doorway. Richie's left arm is slung over Stan's shoulder; his right hangs limply against his side. Eddie can see the blood trickling from under his coat where a bullet has grazed his arm.

Richie’s hurt. But he's _alive_.

"Richie..." Eddie whispers, eyes wide.

"In the flesh," Richie replies, smiling at him. "Told you not to worry."

Ben finally lets go of Eddie’s shoulders and he shoots up out of the chair.

Everyone's eyes are on him as he stumbles forward, burying his face in Richie's shoulder and wrapping his arms around Richie in a bone-crushing hug.

Alive. Richie's _alive_. Eddie's never been this happy in his life.

Richie's good arm comes around Eddie to rest on the small of his back.

"I guess you missed me?"

"You fucking _idiot_ ," Eddie mutters into Richie's chest.

Richie barks out a laugh.

~

They call the doctor, who examines the wound carefully. It seems like Bowers' man was a Water mage, and a Coal mage getting hit with Water magic can experience a variety of side effects, including fatigue and the possibility of infection along the wound site. The doctor applies a poultice, stitches Richie back up - Richie wincing all the while, clutching Eddie's good hand in his own - and tells him to take it easy for the next day or so.

The doctor exits Richie and Stan's room, leaving them and Eddie alone.

Immediately, Stan says, "I've got some things to take care of. You two can get some rest in here, yeah?" and runs out of the room so fast that Eddie swears he can see a smoky outline of where Stan’s body used to be.

Richie's sitting on the bed, Eddie beside him. They aren't touching, even though Eddie's hands have itched for it since he let go of Richie. Richie is examining the stitching on his arm, muttering to himself.

"Hey, uh, Richie?" Eddie asks, clearing his throat.

Richie looks over at him. “Yeah?”

"I- thank you."

Richie smiles at him. "No thanks needed, Eduardo. I'd do it again in a heartbeat."

Eddie frowns. "But why?"

Eddie doesn’t understand any of this. All of it; the flirting, the kindness, the protectiveness, the bravery. Even if Eddie does remind Richie of a friend, to go this far, to risk this much...

“You don't even _know_ me,” Eddie says, curling his fists. Now that the fear is gone, the anger it’s been suppressing bubbles to the surface, and he can’t bite it back anymore. “You know nothing about my life. Where I'm from, my past. Most people look at me and see a ticking time bomb, and I can't even blame them. But you just- you could’ve died! How could you be so- so fucking stupid? I’m not _worth_ that, Richie!”

Eddies voice is cracking again. Fuck, when did he get this emotional? He's been so good at keeping his wall up for so long. A cold, icy thing to make the rest of the world look away, so he doesn't have to feel their angry, fearful, hateful looks. To allow him to exist in this world; apart but surviving.

But Richie _sees_ him. He hasn't stopped looking since the moment they met, and he cuts right through the bullshit, the defensiveness, the wall. Right to the heart of Eddie, in a way only one other person in his life ever has. How has he done it?

"Eddie..." Richie lifts a hand, hesitates, then rests it gently against Eddie's cheek. "I don't have to have known you long to know that you're a good man. You confirmed it the moment you stepped off that porch to give yourself up to Bowers. In this entire world, I feel like I've met maybe half a dozen people like that. Can you blame me for wanting to protect you?"

Eddie swallows as Richie traces his thumb in circles against Eddie's skin. His throat is dry, and words escape him.

Richie continues. "And I'm selfish, Eddie. So damn selfish, you’ll have to forgive me. It’s just that I want you all for myself, but you're too good a man for that, and I'm not good enough. So, this is the only way I know how to give you any part of me."

Richie’s smile is soft, but his eyes look so sad. Fuck, Eddie just hates it. How could anybody this kind, this selfless, think they’re not deserving?

Eddie can’t stand it. He can’t let Richie go on, thinking it’s true.

The last of Eddie's resolve crumbles. He surges forward, pressing into Richie's space, and kisses him softly, one hand curled into the collar of Richie's shirt, the other gripping Richie's elbow.

Richie gasps and, in doing so, gives Eddie the opportunity to kiss him more deeply, flicking his tongue out to run against Richie's lower lip. Richie tastes of the earth, musky and sulfuric, with traces of old whiskey on his breath. Eddie's never tasted anything quite as wonderful.

Richie makes a lovely, shocked noise. Eddie suddenly feels like he's wired on strong coffee, nerves thrumming with energy as he shoves Richie back farther, so the back of his calves press against the mattress. Then, with a graceful air, Eddie slides onto Richie's lap without breaking their kiss, grabbing the lapels of Richie's shirt to keep him still so he can be kissed _properly_ , damn it.

Eddie kisses Richie like a man searching for air between his teeth; messy and desperate. His hands slide down to flick the buttons of Richie's vest open - dark red with black diagonal stripes, because he can’t dress like a fucking normal person - and he gets three undone before Richie's hands come up to stop his progress.

"Eds," Richie gasps, pulling back and looking up into Eddie's eyes, searching. "Are you sure you-"

" _I want you_!" Eddie blurts out. “And don’t fucking call me that.”

Eddie shoves Richie's hands away. He catches a glimpse of the heat flickering in Richie's eyes as he ducks his head to mouth along Richie's jaw. Richie groans and tips his head back as Eddie returns to undoing the buttons. Realizing what’s happening, Richie’s hands dart forward to search for the buttons of Eddie's own vest.

Eddie's much faster at getting them divested of clothing, though it's unfair, given Richie's injury. But that’s fine; this just gives Eddie more time to savor things, slowing down to undo each shirt button and press a kiss directly over the skin as he parts the fabric.

Richie whines, still struggling with the last of Eddie's vest buttons. " _F-fuck_ , yes..."

"You like it?" Eddie mumbles. He chuckles as Richie eagerly nods his head, hands clawing to yank Eddie's vest off his shoulders. "Okay. What else do you like?"

"You, getting these _fucking_ clothes off," Richie says. His hands have given up on the buttons of Eddie's shirt, and are instead headed for the main objective, unbuckling Eddie's belt so Richie can get at the buttons of his pants.

"Hey, you're cheating," Eddie mutters, though he doesn't stop Richie. He gets Richie's shirt fully unbuttoned just as Richie slides a hand under his waistband and finds something hard and thick waiting there. Richie squeezes, and Eddie gasps, "Oh f-fuck!"

"Exactly," Richie says, swallowing any more of Eddie's words with a hungry kiss. He pumps Eddie's shaft as smoothly as he can, considering the angle. Eddie, not to be outdone, shoves Richie's shirt down his arms and drags his nails across Richie's chest, flicking his thumbs against Richie's nipples. Richie whimpers.

Hmmmm. He's sensitive. Eddie can _so_ work with this.

"Okay, hold on," Eddie says when he gets away from Richie's mouth for a second. "Can we just get all our clothes off?" Not that he doesn't enjoy a little foreplay, but he's been dying to feel all of Richie's heat pressed against him since... probably the moment he laid eyes on Richie. But more specifically, since Eddie kissed him.

Richie considers Eddie, then nods and gives him a quick peck before sliding him off Richie's lap. They each furiously unlace boots, unbuckle buckles, unbutton buttons, clothes getting kicked and tossed aside. Even then, Richie stops Eddie like every ten seconds to pull him into another kiss. Eddie swears he's not going to last very long once they do get everything off.

Finally, they stand across from each other, naked as the day they were born.

Eddie takes the initiative, shoving Richie back onto the bed and against the pillows before clambering into his lap.

"You got anything to make this a little easier?" Eddie asks, mouthing down Richie's neck as Richie drags his hands through Eddie's hair.

"Don't I fucking wish," Richie shudders. "We could go ask Bill if he'll lend us some oil?"

"As if I'm letting you leave this bed?" Eddie slowly slides back, kissing farther down, down, down towards his objective. "We'll make do."

When he slides his mouth down Richie's shaft, Richie practically chokes, hands in Eddie's hair tugging wildly. It's been a while since Eddie's done this - he might be a loner but he's not a fucking _prude;_ he's had the occasional tryst - and so he takes his time, remembering what it's like to hold someone's cock on your tongue, savoring the weight, teasing around the head, leaving them breathless and panting above you, calling your name. And Richie calls it so pretty, inflecting a little whine in his voice on the second syllable.

Eddie will admit that he's had... thoughts. About doing this, over the last three days. But nothing beats the real thing. For instance, Richie's thighs are warm and covered in soft hair, and they shake under Eddie's grip; even more so when Eddie pops off Richie's cock and presses wet, loud kisses down them. He hadn't known that before. Now he'll never forget it.

Eddie would honestly be content doing this for Richie, taking his time to take Richie apart with his mouth, and getting nothing in return except the pleasure of knowing he did that. But Richie eventually grabs Eddie's shoulders and pulls him up, kissing him greedily before rolling them over, so now Eddie's on his back.

"You've done enough work," Richie chides, sliding down and kneeling between the vee of Eddie's legs. He shifts his arms under Eddie's thighs and judiciously applies his mouth over the whole of Eddie's length.

"Richie!" Eddie sobs, bucking upwards.

By the Triad, just. The heat and the wet and the press of Richie's tongue over every sensitive inch of him. Eddie has to reach back and grip the bars of the headboard to avoid tearing Richie's hair out by the root. It's so fucking _good_ , and Eddie's been a long way from good for a long, long time.

Richie looks up at him with coal-fire eyes, full of ferocity, possessiveness. _Mine_ , they whisper, flooding the chasm of Eddie's lonely heart. Eddie has to look away, can't bear to see it. No one's looked at him that way, not since...

No. He can't think about that right now. Because then he'll have to think about what this all means, and he doesn't want to think. Just wants to feel, be present, right here.

"Richie," Eddie gasps, "would you get up here? Fucking _spells_.”

Richie listens, letting Eddie's legs down and crawling up to bend over him.

"What do you want?" Richie asks, meeting Eddie's mouth again. "Tell me _anything_ , Eddie, and I'll do it."

Oh, fuck. That's romantic. Fuck, Eddie's a goner.

"Here." Eddie rolls them over again, straddling Richie's lap and settling so their cocks are nearly touching. He takes one of Richie's hands, kissing the knuckles gently and enjoying the broken sob Richie lets out. Then he guides their hands down, pressing them to wrap together around their shafts.

It's a little awkward, and a little drier than Eddie would like, but after they get a rhythm going, Richie's cock starts leaking and that helps smooth the way. Richie's other hand comes up to curl around Eddie's neck, but he doesn't pull Eddie down for a kiss. Instead, he just looks up at Eddie, a whole story playing out on his face with every clench of his jaw, every shuddered gasp, the delicate twitches of his facial muscles as they move in tandem.

For a moment, Eddie's brain hooks on the memory of a sandy-haired boy -with the same wry smile, the same kind eyes - and refuses to let go. He groans and bridges the gap between Richie and himself, kissing him deeply to shove the memory away and center himself back in the moment.

Richie's hand claws down Eddie's back, and Eddie is once again rolled over, but he doesn't mind it at all. Richie is big and warm and they're pressed skin to skin, so Eddie feels nothing but heat and motion. He's overwhelmed, gasping for breath during the few moments that their mouths separate, only to crash back together, magnetically.

Energy, energy, energy. The human body is made of it, and for Eddie, they are nothing but energy in this moment, swirling around one another, near to combining. Yes, that's Richie's hand bringing him off, but Eddie's hand is down there too, and he's starting to lose track of whose body is moving in which way. Their kisses are burning with energy too, desperately breathy and harmonious in sound and intensity.

It's never been like this. Eddie's mind, fleeting in thought, wonders if this is how people like Ben and Bev feel. If you meet someone and let them in, let them see your most vulnerable self, and suddenly you just _know_ , beyond a shadow of a doubt, that this is your person. The one that can light up the cavernous places inside you that you once thought dark forever.

"Richie..." Eddie croons, digging one heel into the back of Richie's thighs. "I'm c-close."

"Me too," Richie gasps. "Together, honey, yeah?"

"Together," Eddie agrees.

He tightens his grip, and together, they let go.

~

Richie uses the basin cloth, soaked in water, to clean them both off, kissing Eddie lazily while he does so. Eddie's tired, _again_ , but in a good way. Richie seems fatigued too. They tug the quilt up and over themselves when Richie is done, settling beneath it and lying on their sides, staring at one another.

"Hi," Eddie says, smiling, probably looking like a lovesick dope.

"Hi yourself," Richie replies, smiling back. "How do you feel?"

"Fantastic," Eddie says truthfully. "I... didn't know it could be like that."

"Me either," Richie says. He lowers his eyes, letting out an amused breath. "Usually I don't get this nice of a reward for saving someone's life. Twice."

"Oh," Eddie says. The little growing thing in his chest - so small, delicate and fragile- shrivels and dies. He pastes on a false smile. "Right. I was thanking you. So, thank you." He swallows, moving to get up. "I guess I should- _woah!_ "

Richie grabs him and tugs him back down, pulling Eddie close to him and tangling their legs together. "I didn't say that was all it was, short stuff," Richie says, kissing Eddie's forehead. "If you don't want it to be."

Thank fuck, Eddie thinks, as the growing thing comes back to life. His body relaxes into Richie's hold. It's nice, being held. Eddie's forgotten how nice.

"How's the wound feel?" Eddie asks. Richie's got a decent amount of chest hair, and Eddie nuzzles into it.

"Hmmm, cut it out, that's ticklish," Richie chides. "It feels fine. Give me a good day of rest and I'll be back to normal."

"I think I've spent more time in bed in this town than out of it," Eddie jokes. Then he remembers, yeah, that's probably true. Fucking Bowers and his gang's gun-to-the-head, ask-questions-later policy.

"Well, you don't have to stay with me. In fact, you probably shouldn't, unless you want Bev and Ben and probably Stan cutting you out of the bounty. Can't collect the reward if you didn't do any of the work."

"I worked!" Eddie retorts. "I talked to people. Got people to open up about... things."

"Anything useful to our mission?"

"Oh, fuck off."

Richie snickers, dipping his head to catch Eddie's lips in a slow, languid kiss. "Mmmm. I'm not saying that I wouldn't enjoy you spending the entire day in bed with me. I'm just saying, you seem like the type to feel guilty if you don't contribute an equal amount to the rest of the group. Besides, aren't you getting a little stir crazy?"

"Okay, okay," Eddie says. "A few more minutes and then I'm gone."

He kisses Richie back to shut him up. Possibly to see if he's interested in another round. A few more minutes is a very vague amount of time, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I hope everyone is enjoying the story so far! Wow, they got to the fucking by chapter 3, I think this is like a record for me. As you can see, I'm trying to put out at least a chapter a day, but we will see if this holds. Let me know what you think of the worldbuilding and if you're confused by anything.


	4. Stan Uris and the Trashmouth Kid

When Eddie steps out of Richie and Stan's room, Stan is standing there, leaning against the railing, one eyebrow raised and a very judgmental smirk on his face.

"What?" Eddie asks, shutting the door behind him. "I'm letting him rest."

"Kaspbrak, for future reference, the walls in this place are thin," Stan explains. "So, if you decide to fuck my partner at high noon, maybe do it somewhere Mrs. Fernando's bridge club isn't meeting at the same time? I've never seen so many scandalized folks leave a place that fast."

Shit. Eddie's face reddens as dark as a beetroot, and he presses his hands over his eyes. "Fuck. Well, there goes my good reputation."

"Not entirely. The ones who weren't scandalized seemed impressed." Stan motions his head towards the stairs. "Come get some air and have a smoke with me. We should chat."

Eddie doesn't like that sound of this, but he's got no good excuse, so he follows Stan.

Bill is behind his bar, and he shoots Eddie a grin and a thumbs up as they pass. "Good for you, Kaspbrak."

"Son of a- does _everybody_ know?" Eddie groans. He doesn't have much of a sex life, but fuck, what he does have, he doesn't feel like sharing with the rest of town.

Stan shrugs. "I expect that by the end of the day, they will. That bridge club doesn't seem the type to hold back on gossip."

Stan pushes the door open and Eddie steps out into a town that's much livelier than it was the first day he was here. There's got to be dozens of people on the streets, laughing and hawking goods, horses trotting alongside half a dozen carriages. It's like these people sense good tidings, a break in the depressing news they've been hearing for the last several weeks. Eddie supposes that seeing a group of hunters chase outlaws out of town makes them feel safer, more willing to socialize again.

Stan pulls a pack of Portland cigarettes out of his breast pocket and hands one to Eddie, keeping one for himself. He lights them both using a matchbox from the same pocket. Eddie sucks in a deep pull and sighs it out, resting his elbows on the railing. Damn, that's nice. Nothing like a smoke after some Water-damned _amazing_ sex.

"Where are Ben and Bev?" Eddie asks as Stan leans next to him.

Stan motions to the sheriff's office. "Conferring with the sheriff on what supplies we can use in the mine. Nothing explosive, obviously, in case there's a coal seam we or that creature has missed. Too easy to start an underground fire."

"Any heat source is a potential for combustion," Eddie says. "Luring the thing out into the open would be safer."

"I agree," Stan says. "I was hoping you might have some ideas as to how."

Eddie frowns. "Why me?"

"Fresh eyes? It isn't like you've been very involved in planning for the last couple of days."

"Not my fault, Stan."

"So, you say, Eddie. But only fools or men with a death wish follow a stranger to a second location. I'm still trying to figure out which one you are."

"I don't have a death wish- and I'm _not_ a fool," Eddie says, before Stan can agree with the other option. "I had good reasoning behind that. You think I've lived this long by taking a lot of risks?"

"There must be something you're good at, to make it this long." Stan takes another long drag off his cigarette. Eddie senses he's buying time, figuring out how to say what he wants to say next. And then, "I guess Richie sees it, 'cause I sure a shit can't."

"Is that what this is about?" Eddie takes one last pull of smoke and stubs the cigarette out on the railing. "You're mad about all the attention he's giving me."

"No. I'm _worried_ about it. I don't enjoy watching my friend of two decades almost die over someone he barely knows." Stan drops his own cigarette to the ground, crushing it with his foot. Eddie feels like there's a message in that to him. "I want to know what he sees in you."

"So, ask him," Eddie says, motioning to the door. "He's right upstairs. What can I explain that he can't?"

Stan shakes his head. "That's the problem. He won't tell me. Just keeps saying not to worry about it."

Oh. Well, that sounds like an issue. And Eddie's just a little curious for more information.

"He told me I remind him of someone he used to know,” Eddie says. “Some old friend who died?"

Eddie can see the moment on Stan's face when he puts two and two together.

"Shit," Stan says. "Okay. That makes a lot more sense."

"Care to elaborate?"

"No, I don't." Stan folds his arms, nodding. "That's Richie's business to tell, if he ever wants to. Just know that you're a very, very lucky person, and if you hurt him, I'll hurt you."

Eddie frowns. "Is that a threat?"

"More like a promise," Stan replies. "Richie might seem like a lot of bluster and hot air when you first meet him, but if you know him long enough, you realize he wears his Water-damned heart on his sleeve, and it's gotten him into trouble before. So, don't give him the run-around, and don't lie to him to spare his feelings, if yours aren't the same."

"I wasn't planning on it," Eddie says. He can't even be mad at Stan right now; the man wants to protect Richie. Eddie imagines that Stan's been the one picking up the pieces of Richie when someone else breaks him. It must be exhausting. "Stan, I swear, I'm not looking to hurt him. I genuinely like him, if you can believe it."

"I'll try very hard to do so," Stan says. The tension in his shoulders dissipates as he stands up straight, holding his hand out to Eddie. "If you're good to him, you'll have no problem with me."

Eddie clasps it, shaking it. "You're a good man, Stan. I could've used a friend like you, y'know?"

Stan smiles. "Know me long enough, Eddie, and maybe you'll have one."

Eddie remembers what Richie told him, about wanting to protect good people. Now he realizes that means Stan, just as much as it does Eddie.

Eddie supposes that they're a package deal; he can't have Richie without Stan, and, well, he's okay with that. The more people around Richie, keeping him safe, the better. And Eddie's got no shortage of room for people he can rely on.

"Come on," Stan says. "We've got more planning to do. The rest of them will be glad to see you up."

~

The hunters spend the rest of the day vacillating between making plans and gently teasing Eddie about what he and Richie are getting into. It's a gentle ribbing; teasing tinged with affection. Eddie's observed this kind of interaction from afar, and it's something he's always wanted. Isn't that kinda pathetic? Maybe spending the last two decades isolating himself wasn't the best idea.

"I think we should head out first thing in the morning," Bev says. "We're wasting time now, sitting around. Eddie, you think you'll be good enough to go?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine," he says. Over the course of the afternoon, Eddie's headache has faded into a barely noticeable ache, and despite the vigorous coital exercise he got earlier, his energy has improved. With a good night's sleep, he'll be right as rain in the morning.

"What about Richie?" Ben asks, directing his question to Stan.

Stan nods. "I'm sure he's coming. If his arm gives him any trouble, he can always shoot offhand. Presuming we find this thing."

Ben and Bev both want to stop by the smith before they go back to the tavern - buying a few extra bullets and having the mage smiths re-up the power imbued into their non-proficient guns, just to be safe - so Stan and Eddie return to the tavern alone.

Mike left the sheriff's office a couple hours ago. Now they find him sat on a stool by the bar, head bowed forward in deep conversation with Bill, who's leaning close, smiling fondly at him. There's a heat in their combined gaze; Eddie practically feels the energy radiating off it.

They pull away from one another when Stan and Eddie step inside.

"Evening, boys," Mike says, raising his whiskey glass. "You figure out a plan of attack?"

"We're heading out in the morning," Stan says. "I'm going to go check in on Richie. Give us a few minutes, Eddie?"

"Oh, yeah, of course, man," Eddie says. It feels awkward, having Stan ask Eddie to give him and Richie space, as if Eddie has any claim over Richie's time- except maybe he sort of does now? And that will be a change on Stan's part too. "Take as much time as you need."

Mike slides off his stool as Stan ascends the stairs.

"That's probably my cue to head home," Mike says. "Glad to see you're doing better, Mr. Kaspbrak."

"You can call me Eddie, you know," Eddie says, tipping his hat at Mike. "And thanks."

Mike leaves, and Eddie sits on the same stool, folding his hands in front of him. "You mind pouring me a scotch?" he asks Bill.

"Mmmmm," Bill replies. He works quickly, quietly and expertly. When he turns back around to face Eddie, he frowns. "What?"

Fuck. Eddie used to be better at neutral expressions. "Nothing, man." He takes the glass from Bill and swallows at least half, sighing contentedly. "Just wondering what you and the sheriff get up to when we're not here."

"None of your f-fucking business," Bill responds. The tone of his voice is hostile.

"Woah, dude, relax," Eddie says, holding his hands up. "I'm not trying to give you any shit. Genuinely fucking curious, if you believe it."

"M-Mike is p-practically my b-brother," Bill stammers. Eddie's noticed that he always stammers more when he's nervous or agitated. "Of c-course we're close."

"Do you consider him a brother then?" Eddie asks. "How old were you two when you met?"

"F-fifteen," Bill intones. He grabs the drying cloth off the bar and pulls a glass that's been soaking in soap out of a tub, dunking it in the clean water tub beside it before starting to dry it off.

"So, you spent maybe two, three years living together? Well past the time kids start having adult feelings towards one another." Eddie swirls the remaining scotch in his glass. He's trying to pick the right words to not spook Bill off. Eddie chooses his words far more carefully than most others, because his words are often the only thing between him and an early grave. "I couldn't blame a man for having different, non-brotherly feelings at that age."

Bill puts down the glass and braces his hands on the top of the bar. Eddie can see the nervous energy as he taps his thumbnail against the worn wood. "When my m-mom and dad took Mike in, they t-told me to treat him as part of the f-f- _family_ ," Bill says. He lets out a huff of air, digging his nail into the bar. "So, I've tried to d-do that. It wouldn't have been f-fair to him otherwise."

"Because he had nowhere else to go," Eddie states, starting to put it together. "So, if someone else in that family had expressed some not so familial feelings towards him, he would've felt pressured to accept them? Even if he didn't return them?"

"Mmmm," Bill says again.

He finally looks at Eddie, and his expression is weary. One of acceptance of something that's painful but buried so deeply into your bones at this point that there's no way to stop.

"But you grew up, Bill," Eddie says. "He's not looking for a home anymore, he's got one here."

"And I'm still his only f-family," Bill says.

"Family can mean a lot of different things. Not all of them are worth holding onto." Eddie knows this all too well. Maybe he had family once, and then it was gone, but at least he got the chance to learn that sometimes, you're better off without them. "You're telling me you've never wished, not once, that things were different?"

Bill sets him with a level gaze. "Every f-fucking day, Eddie. But we live with the ch-choices we make. I can live with all of mine. H-how about you?"

Eddie can't answer that one. So, he focuses on his drink instead.

~

When Eddie goes upstairs, he stops on the landing. His room is to the left, and Richie and Stan's is to the right. He hears some noise coming from their room, but no muffled words, so whatever Stan wanted to talk to Richie about, they're probably done with.

He could knock on their door. Just to, you know, see how Richie is feeling. Not for any other purpose. He knows that Richie and Stan share that cramped bed, probably have done that dozens and dozens of times over the years, and it means nothing. Just what you do when you're on the road with a friend; towns like this don't have suites with two beds, and even if they did, why waste the money?

They probably turned in early. Eddie should too. He'll see them again in the morning.

He turns to the left and walks three steps, opening his door.

Richie is curled up on the bed, on his side, under the blanket. His eyes are closed, lips slightly parted and breath light in the pattern of sleep. His spectacles are lying on the nightstand. His boots are sitting by the door, and his vest and trench coat are bunched up on the dresser, his gun belt lying on top of them.

Eddie takes it all in. It tightens a thick knot in his throat, unfurls a painfully bright warmth in the middle of his chest.

The image is just so perfectly domestic; Eddie could imagine they're in their very own cabin, and they've both been working hard today - maybe Richie is a rancher, Eddie works at the bank - and Eddie comes home to this little piece of happiness. His own family, his own home. Exhausted, but it's all worth it, just for this.

Maybe they'll never have that. But this is damn close.

Shutting the door, Eddie unlaces his own boots quietly, dropping them next to Richie's. He unbuttons his vest, slips his outer layers off and drapes his things over his own gun belt, which has been lying here uselessly for the past few days. Then he lifts the blanket on the other side of the bed and crawls beneath it, burrowing until he reaches Richie's back and presses himself against it, shoving one arm underneath Richie and draping one over his side.

The motion causes Richie to stir.

"Hey," he says in a raspy voice. "This okay?"

"What?" Eddie asks.

"Me being here," Richie responds.

Eddie kisses the back of his neck, sliding his hands underneath Richie's shirt.

"Yeah," he says, nuzzling his face against the fine hairs on the back of Richie's neck. "I like it."

"O-okay," Richie says, breath stuttering as Eddie's hands travel upwards, smoothing across the expanse of Richie's chest. "Stan said you two talked."

"Mhmmm," Eddie replies. "Told me not to break your heart." His right hand breaks off to travel downwards, while his left finds its way to one of Richie's nipples, thumbing it and flicking gently. "He's very protective of you."

"Oh," Richie says. He lets out a shuddering sigh and presses against Eddie's roaming fingertips. "Yeah, he can be intense. So then, what'd you tell him?"

Eddie's right hand slips under the hem of Richie's pants. "Told him I wasn't planning on it," Eddie replies, enjoying the satisfied moan Richie lets out when Eddie's hand finds its mark. "Just as long as you don't break mine."

"Eddie..." Richie bites his lip, muffling his pleased groan; Eddie bets Stan had a conversation with him about appropriate volume in a public boarding space. "Yeah, I-I'll try not to again. Promise."

"Again?" Eddie asks, pausing his hands.

Richie whines and bucks forward. "Sorry, sorry. Brain's kind of mixing up my words with what you're doing down there. I uh, I meant ever. I'll try not to ever."

Eddie's not sure he believes him, but he's too tired and horny to question it. It'll have to wait for another day.

He's got a more pressing concern in hand. Literally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little bit of an interlude chapter today. Next one should be up tomorrow!


	5. Seven Guns for Seven Hunters

The sky the next morning is just as cloudless and blue as it was the day before. Eddie wonders how often this place gets any rain. It's lovely weather to have as the five hunters set out on their horses, past the high rows of cornstalks, under the town gate and out onto the prairie.

Richie's got one arm slung against his chest to avoid agitating the wound, but he seems perfectly fine directing his stallion one handed, horse and rider working in a practiced symbiosis. He's talking with Stan, but he keeps glancing at Eddie, shooting him shy, soft smiles.

This morning they woke up wrapped around each other, and Richie made it really, really difficult for Eddie to extract himself from the warm sprawl of his encircling limbs. Eventually, Stan interrupted their lazy, languid kissing by banging on Eddie's door and shouting at Richie to stop dicking around.

Not that they had the chance to _dick_ around this morning, Eddie thinks sourly.

"You sure you want to come with us today?" Richie had asked him. "Bowers said that if you left town, you'd be dead meat."

"And leave you to take all the glory? As if," Eddie teases. "Anyway, if we're out of town and they try to gang up on us, at least there won't be any innocent casualties."

A long time ago, Eddie had to burn the fear out of himself to survive in this world. Now he has exactly one fear: that Richie will leave him - willingly, or not. And with the reality of what they're about to do, every time Richie catches Eddie's eye, Eddie feels his stomach clench like a heartsick young boy all over again, yearning and scared all at once. It's fucking pathetic, really. Richie is just as capable as Eddie is, maybe even more so, of defending himself. Eddie won't lose him.

Eddie _can't_ lose him. Not again. Not after Simon.

They follow the train tracks towards the craggy outcropping of rock shooting up out of the prairie grass. The entrance to the mine is surrounded by rotting wood. Old rusting pickaxes and other mining tools litter the ground outside. The train tracks pass near the front of the entrance and continue westward, and they, at least, look new and unblemished, since the train still operates through here. The same can't be said of the rusted mine cart tracks leading down a long tunnel, into the darkness below.

They leave their horses hidden behind a nearby outcropping, just in case they chase the Demon out into the open and it decides it needs a snack. Everyone checks their equipment; Eddie's own guns are all smith-imbued with magic, and he just had them repaired a few weeks back, but he double checks which bullets are loaded into which gun, just in case. He'd mixed them up once and... well, you only make that mistake once.

When he pulls his fourth, non-magical gun out from its hidden holster on the back of his belt, Bev sees it and motions. "You really carry one of those?"

"Those who don't have, improvise," Eddie explains, spinning the chamber and counting the eight steel bullets within. "You never know what'll be useful." She doesn't want to see the inside of his saddlebag; there's so much random shit, but what if he needs it? It's safer to hold onto things.

After tying bandanas around their faces to block out the particles of coal and rock dust, they each light a sealed oil lantern - using matches from Stan's matchbook - except for Richie, who's using his off-hand for his gun.

Ben takes a few cautious steps into the mine, raising his lantern to illuminate the path down.

"Stan, if this thing really is a Coal Demon, you've got the best chance of injuring it," Eddie says.

"No need to remind me, Kaspbrak," Stan says, stepping into the mine after Ben. "Everyone have their Water pistols at hand, just in case."

The thing about a Demon is, once it's started living, it's hard to kill it off again. Only magical weapons will work against it, and you've got to destroy the core of it; the first bit of coal or wood or water that the foolhardy mage used when they accidentally created the thing. And the core's not always in the heart, or the head. If you hit the wrong place, it'll just keep on coming. This becomes harder the more and more fuel it consumes, as the new fuel fuses around the core, creating a protective shell.

So, even though it's one creature, Eddie's glad there's five of them. The thing likely won't go down with one hit, or two, or five, or even ten. The more bullets, the better, to completely obliterate the core.

Richie’s head almost brushes the ceiling and Bev looks him up and down as they pass through the entrance.

"You know how to be quiet and quick, Richie?" Bev asks, smirking as she motions to Eddie. "You two were real bad at it yesterday so I just wanted to make sure."

"Oh, fuck off," Richie says good-naturedly. "I might not be as graceful and tiny as you, but I know how to do my job." He motions to Ben. "What about your man here?"

Ben smiles and pats Richie on the shoulder. "Some of us know how to satisfy our partners without letting the entire town know, buddy."

Richie wrinkles his nose. "Eww. Thanks for that mental image, _pal_."

They fall naturally into a five-point position, with Stan and Eddie at the front, Ben and Bev in the middle and Richie covering their back. After the first corridor, the mine splits into two wide tunnels. They pause and consider their options, listening quietly to sense any sounds coming from down either tunnel. No dice; they're as quiet as the stale air around them.

"We could split up," Ben whispers. "Cover twice the ground."

"Not like we have anywhere to be today, Hanscom," Richie whispers back. "If it takes us all day to search the tunnels together, then it takes all day. Splitting up's for fools and protagonists of cheap horror paperbacks."

"Richie's right," Eddie whispers. "We should stick together for now." He hasn't been in any tunnels or deep underground in a long while, so he'd forgotten how uncomfortable the pure darkness and the tightness of the space makes him. Better they pool their lantern light and stick to one path.

They choose the left path and continue down, picking their way over outcroppings of rock and old tools. There are other branching tunnels, but they don't go very far, and a few steps into them shows no creature in sight.

Eddie fingers the trigger of his pistol, growing more and more nervous the deeper they go. Other than the crunch of dirt under their feet, the tunnel is unnaturally quiet. It's as if the earth is holding its breath in anticipation of what might come next.

They've been walking for what must be at least fifteen minutes when Bev nudges Richie. "Hey. You feel anything weird about this place?"

"No, not really?" Richie answers. "Why?"

"We're Coal mages," Bev says. "If there's a fucking Coal Demon down here, shouldn't we be able to, y'know, sense it?"

"She's got a point, Rich," Stan says. "Any mage should be able to sense that level of power."

"And yet," Eddie mumbles. "There isn't a lick of magic running through this area."

"Well, this side of the mine can't be that much deeper," Ben says. "Let's go to the end and try the other side."

The end of the tunnel holds another surprise for them. As they got closer, Eddie started noticing things that don't really belong at the bottom of a mine. Old aluminum cans tossed haphazardly on the ground, buckets reeking of stale urine set down in short tunnels, scraps of molding bread and cheese resting on top of a pile of wooden boxes. When they finally reach the small cavern that marks the end of the coal seam, they stumble onto even more trash, ratty old blankets, and a fire pit built in the middle of the room, filled with the burned remains of wood.

"Someone was living here," Richie says, bending down to nudge at the wood. It turns to ash under his fingertips.

"More like some _ones_ ," Stan says, kicking a can. "Look at those outlines in the dust. At least what, thirteen, fourteen blankets spread out?"

"Gotta be Bowers' gang," Ben says. "Maybe they ran off after the gunfight?"

"No, Bowers was pissed," Richie responds. "I don't think he's giving up that easily. This looks like a tactical retreat. Probably found a new hiding spot. We should let Mike know."

They trek back up to the original split path, and this time take the rightward one. The tunnels are just as sprawling and maze-like as the last path, and still as eerily silent. Not even a whisper of a living thing down here, which is odd, considering wildlife - mice, rabbits, maybe even bears - should've been using this place for nesting by now. Eddie doesn't even see insects burrowing through the soil. The whole place is just... dead.

"We're getting close to the tunnel collapse," Ben says. "Steady feet, now. Watch for loose or shifting dirt."

"Not my first time in a mine, big guy," Stan says. "Richie, watch your footing."

"Stan, baby, do me a favor and kiss my ass," Richie says.

"Isn't that Eddie's job now-"

"Oh, _fuck_ ," Bev says when they round the corner, cutting off all revelry.

About ten feet away, an enormous, impassable mountain of dirt, rocks and broken wood marks the place where the ceiling and walls have caved in. The pressure of the collapse has broken the steel tracks off their moorings, and shovels are littered throughout the cave in front of them.

Mike had said that, after the collapse, the townspeople had dug for days and days, carting so much dirt out of the mine that it formed a new hill next to the entrance. They'd eventually given up, knowing that their loved ones, even if they'd survived the initial collapse, would have likely suffocated or starved or died of thirst. And the tunnel was becoming unstable the farther they dug; they feared another collapse if they kept going.

All of that, however, isn't what draws the group's attention. What's really concerning is the hole - at least three feet wide, dug at a forty-five-degree angle to the ground - in the dead center of the collapsed dirt wall.

"Something dug down there," Eddie says. He swallows back a well of fear, lifting his lantern and illuminating a line of clawed animal paw prints leading out from the hole.

"No, look," Richie says. "If it had dug down, there would be a fresh pile of overturned dirt nearby. No dirt pile."

"Shit," Ben says. "It didn't dig down. It dug _up_."

"Let me see something." Bev crouches down, motioning to Richie, who joins her. "Amplify?" she asks.

"Yeah, let's check," Richie responds.

The other hunters watch as they each press a hand to the ground, closing their eyes and breathing in tandem.

"What are they doing?" Eddie mutters to Stan.

Stan frowns. "You don't know? Coal mages can sense nearby veins in the ground. If they search together, it amplifies their range."

"Where would I ever learn that? That's some specialized information, right there," Eddie argues. "Not like I've hung around a lot of Coal mages."

Stan shrugs. "That's like, common fucking knowledge. Boy, you must've had some protective spirit watching over you, to get through life not knowing that."

"Shut it, both of you," Bev snaps. "Trying to concentrate here."

After a few minutes, Bev and Richie open their eyes.

"There's nothing around here," Richie says. "Nothing for at least a mile."

"That doesn't make sense," Bev says as they straighten up. "The mine operations were still going at the time of collapse. They'd just broken through to a new vein. How can all the coal just be gone, like that?"

"The Demon," Eddie suggests. It's the most obvious answer. "If it really was down there for thirty years, maybe it was surviving by consuming the remaining coal. And when it ran out, it went looking for more."

"That's why the thing seemed to appear out of nowhere," Ben says. "Whatever happened thirty years ago, it must have been created then."

"You think it's still nesting down there?" Richie asks. "Like, Coal Demons are usually nocturnal. They hate the sun. So, it would need somewhere to hide out.”

"If I had to bet, I'd say no," Eddie replies. "Bowers brought a gang of mages here. The thing would've gorged itself on the Coal mages, given the chance."

"Maybe it did," Stan points out. "Maybe that's why they left."

Eddie shakes his head. "Did you see any blood or gore? Any signs of a struggle? Bowers isn't the type of guy to clean up his messes. He prefers making them and leaving others to clean up for him."

"Well, if that thing is down there, we're going to need better equipment to get to it," Bev says. "Let's head back to town. See about our next steps."

Eddie swears he hears whispering floating up through the hole, but it's probably just the wind.

Yeah. Two-hundred feet underground, just the wind.

~

When they return to town, Mike is waiting for them at the tavern, eager for news. Eddie presumes he'll be disappointed, but he seems satisfied.

"At least we know where it's not hiding," Mike explains. "And the farther Bowers' gang is from here, the better."

"You love finding the positive out of shitty situations, huh," Stan states.

"Pessimism won't get us that bounty," Mike says, shrugging. "I'd rather hope for the best than expect the worst."

"I feel like you and he need to start a club," Richie mutters to Eddie. "Something like, _Guys Who Should Be Dead By Now Because They're So Fucking Pure But the Triad has a Sense of Humor_."

Eddie covers a snort and mumbles back, "I'll start that after you start one with Bill called _Guys Who Do Stupid Self-Sacrificing Bullshit Instead of Just Being Honest About Their Feelings._ "

"Touchè, short stuff," Richie says, grinning.

Mike promises to get them mining equipment by the time the sun rises again, so the rest of the day is for their leisure. That's the thing about hunting, it's often long periods of waiting and keeping yourself occupied until the opportunity arises.

Bev starts up a game of hold ‘em, and as the tavern fills up with more patrons, some townsfolk jump into the game, comfortable enough with the hunters to interact.

The hours while away as Bill keeps the alcohol flowing. Eddie loses a good chunk of change to a plump young woman with an uncanny ability to predict the flop, turn and river. Richie, meanwhile, drinks and deftly collects his winnings at another table where blackjack is the game. In the end, he ends up getting into a shouting match with a guy he says is making shitty plays. Stan has to drag him away from that one, and shoves him next to Eddie at the bar, who is animatedly talking with an elderly stranger about a series of books he'd read as a child in his mother's library.

"Hey," Richie says, draping an arm over Eddie's shoulder and pulling his attention away. "You wanna go upstairs for a bit...?" He nuzzles his face against the back of Eddie's neck, and Eddie reddens at the blatant display of affection.

The stranger merely smiles, gives Eddie a wink and leaves their seat to take Richie's place at the blackjack table.

"Are you drunk?" Eddie asks, shivering as Richie's hand skims down his side, pressing warm fingertips into the bend of his waist. "I don't do drunken hookups."

"Not a hookup if we've already had sex, genius," Richie says, snickering in Eddie's ear. "And I'm sober enough to know I want you real bad, Eddie Kaspbrak."

Eddie swallows and lets Richie pull him off the bar stool. "If you can't get it up, I'm kicking you back to your own room."

Richie laughs, tugging Eddie towards the stairs. "Oh, don't worry about that, short stuff. For you, it's always up."

They don't do a very good job of staying quiet, but the bar downstairs is lively enough, and somebody's broken out a fiddle. Nobody hears Richie's groans of pleasure as he holds Eddie against his chest and fucks between Eddie's clenched thighs, or Eddie's gasps of ecstasy at the wet heat of Richie's mouth around his cock. Or if they do, they're polite enough not to make a fuss.

Ms. Fernando's bridge club could learn a thing or two.

By the time the sounds of the bar fade away and people take an early leave to meet the curfew, Richie and Eddie are curled together again, Richie's face pressed to Eddie's chest, Eddie twisting his fingers through the soft curls of Richie's hair.

"Hey," Richie mumbles. "What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing really," Eddie says. "Only how nice that was."

"Oh. You sounded like you were enjoying yourself."

Eddie snorts. "I figured when I yelled _Richie yes, just like that, please baby_ I was making it clear."

"I got the hint." Richie scoots farther up, so he's face to face with Eddie, giving him a quick peck before saying, "Think I could fuck you later? Maybe?"

“Uh...” He's- he's _never_ -

"Or you could fuck me," Richie amends as Eddie remains silent. "Whatever you like! Whatever makes you happy."

But just because he’s never, doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to.

"Find us a prophylactic," Eddie replies. "And we'll talk about it."

Richie's face brightens into some sweet, dopey thing. If Eddie is lovesick, he realizes, then Richie is gone for him. It's terrifyingly wonderful, something small and soft and so vulnerable.

Richie wears his heart on his sleeve, Stan had said. Did he mean this? Has he ever seen Richie look at somebody like they could hang the moon?

"Richie,” Eddie says. “After this is all done. What were you thinking about doing?"

"I don't know." Richie appears thoughtful. "Stan and I usually just drift wherever we feel like. We're easy, like that. Did you have a place in mind? Another bounty we could all go for? I know you're not used to working with people, but partners make it a lot easier. We could jump on things you wouldn't try alone."

"You're presuming there isn't anything I wouldn't try alone. I came here, didn't I?"

"Oh." Richie frowns. "Is it a money thing? You trying to pay off a debt? Stan might not give up his share, but I don't mind-"

"Fuck, Richie, no. It's not that. Although I'm a mite concerned you'd give up pay that easily."

"I'd get my due in other ways." Richie grins, waggling his eyebrows.

Eddie chuckles. "You're a wicked man. No, I was just thinking. After we get paid up for this, we'll have a good fortune. A man could live off that money for a while. Settle down somewhere, buy some land. Build something beyond this kind of life."

"What are you saying?" Richie sounds hesitant, uncertain. "You want to be done with hunting?"

" _We_ could be done with hunting, Richie." Eddie hasn't been able to stop thinking about that moment of domesticity last night. He's never wanted anything in this world so bad. "No more constant roaming. Somewhere to call home. A real one."

"What about Bowers?" Richie asks. "You've been running from him forever."

"I think it's like you said," Eddie says. "He's not the terror he used to be. Old Bowers would've razed Derry to the ground and not cared a whit about losing men. Another year, maybe two, and there'll be no one to run from."

"What about Stan, then?" Richie counters. "Where'll he go? Who will protect him?"

"You don't think he'd want the same?"

"I don't know what he wants. We never talked about this as a possibility. What if he wants to keep roaming?"

"Then he's welcome to." Eddie shrugs. "Doesn't mean you have to follow. You don't owe him your whole life, Richie."

It's the wrong thing to say. Eddie sees it in the shock that passes across Richie's face, followed by a slow, unfurling anger in his eyes.

"You don't know a Coal-damned thing, do you?" Richie spits out. He pushes up off the bed, pulling away from Eddie's arms and grabbing his shirt off the floor.

"Hey, wait, Richie." Eddie scrambles off the bed. "I didn't mean any harm, I just meant-"

"No, you listen, and you listen good, Eddie." Richie jabs him in the chest with a finger. "I owe Stan everything I am. If it wasn't for him, I'd have ended up at the end of a noose or in front of a firing squad a long time ago."

"Oh, come on," Eddie says, following Richie around the room as he picks up his clothes. "You're talking like he's your fucking moral compass or something."

"Maybe 'cause he is!" Richie yanks his pants on, furiously buttoning them and not looking Eddie in the eye. "Just like you told me, Eddie. You know nothing about my past. You don't know what I came from, what I've done."

"You think I'm some innocent?" Eddie grips Richie's wrist, stopping his motions. "You think I haven't done things I've regretted?"

Richie tugs his wrist away, wild-eyed as he steps back. "Well, let's see. You ever leave the man you love ‘cause you're too much of a weak coward to stand up for him? And then when you go back for him, only to find he died - and you know it was your fault - you ever plan on razing a whole fucking town to the ground and killing every adult, every child, even the fucking animals as vengeance?"

Eddie feels a sick drop in his stomach as the weight of Richie's words hit him. " _Fuck_ , Richie, no. You didn't-"

"You're right, I didn't." Richie slides his vest on over his shoulders. "But only because Stan was there." He lifts the edge of his hairline away, revealing a faded scar. "That's where he hit me with his gun to knock me out. Tied me to my horse and rode us outta there with me screaming and cursing him the whole time. I hated him so much. Wouldn't speak to him for weeks, and he wouldn't let me outta his sight. Just kept saying I needed to move on, live for myself, learn to do things the right way. And without him, I wouldn't have learned how to. So, don't you tell me what I owe Stan."

"Okay, okay," Eddie says, slowly inching forward. Richie's as twitchy as an angry cat, and just as liable to dash, so Eddie keeps his tone calm as he rests his hands on Richie's forearms and says, "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

Richie fixes him with a guarded, hurt expression. "I didn't grow up learning how to be good, Eddie. I said I'm selfish and I mean it. Didn't think about anybody but myself for a long time until I found somebody I wanted to be selfless for, and then I lost him."

Eddie shakes his head. "What you did for me wasn't selfish though. The least thing from it! Putting yourself in danger like that for somebody you barely knew. Know."

"Oh, it was absolutely selfish," Richie explains. "But now I know how to be selfish in a way that helps people instead of hurting them."

Eddie reaches up and cups Richie's face with both hands. "So... the person I remind you of, it wasn't just a friend, then?"

Richie laughs mirthlessly. "You're bright. I liked that about him too. See? Told you I'm selfish."

"Yeah, well, you're not the only one reminded of lost loves," Eddie says. "So, I guess I'm selfish too."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Maybe after all this, we should talk about that."

"Okay," Richie says. "Just for you, Eddie, I'll spill out my soul."

Eddie hopes he's brave enough to listen.

~

Richie excuses himself to get some air. He doesn't say whether he'll come back, and Eddie doesn't push it. Whatever just happened, they both need some time to think.

Eddie spends a few minutes more in his room, but now the space feels stifling, so he ends up dressing and heading downstairs, waving at Bill as he passes. He figures that if Richie's on the porch, he'll just make his way somewhere else, but Richie's nowhere to be seen.

The streets are empty, shadows long in the moonlight. Eddie hears soft singing and follows the sound around behind the tavern to Bill's barn. Their horses have been sharing the space, but right now the doors are open, and Bev is brushing her steed down with a wirehair brush.

"Hey," Eddie says, approaching her. "Late night grooming?"

"Trying to calm her down," Bev says. "I think she's got something stuck in her back-right hoof. She was riding a little off on the way back, but she didn't seem distressed until I came to check on her."

"Want me to soothe her while you figure out what's stuck?" Eddie asks. "She okay with strangers?"

"The nice ones," Bev says. She reaches into the satchel on her belt and pulls out an apple, tossing it to Eddie. "Here, she'll be your new best friend."

When he was little, Eddie's mama owned so many beautiful horses; some racers, some stockier breeds for farm work. When Eddie had no one else, he had those horses. He's never really met a horse that disliked him, and Bev's girl is just the same, snatching the apple off his palm and chewing it in four loud bites before licking his hand as he strokes her nose with his other one.

"You're a good girl, aren'tcha?" Eddie murmurs.

Bev pulls over a stool and sits, gently lifting her horse's foot up onto her knees. "Just like I thought, something stuck in the frog. Give me a few minutes to pry it out."

"Take your time," Eddie replies, smiling as the horse sniffs down his chest. "Although I think she's looking for more treats from me."

Bev unclips the satchel from her waist and tosses it to him. "Have at it."

The next few minutes are a comfortable, easy quiet. Bev, apparently not shy about anything, keeps humming a tune that Eddie's never heard before, but the easy way it thrums out of her throat tells him she's sung it a thousand times before.

"You mind me asking what you're humming?" Eddie asks, finally too curious to resist.

"Hmm? Oh, it's something popular about twenty years back. Something silly, I can't even remember the name." She smiles to herself as she uses a pick to work the object out. "They were playing it the first time I laid eyes on Ben."

Ah, there's the story.

"So, it's got some good memories attached," Eddie offers. What a nice thing to have. He's sure the only noise when he saw Richie was the sound of clinking glasses and shuffling cards. "What's your story, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Mmmm, not that interesting, I'm afraid. Boy meets girl, boy flirts badly with girl, girl humors him and challenges him to win a target practice for a date with her, boy loses terribly to girl but is so sweet and humble about it she takes him on one, anyway. Rest is history." Bev makes a little grunting noise and jerks the tongs in her hand back. "There we go. Just some wood and I don't think it went too deep."

"You have some salve?" Eddie asks. "I've got some in my kit."

"Nah, I've got it," Bev says, producing a little tin from her pocket. "Give her another apple, this stuff stings a bit."

"So, you two have been a... thing. Ever since?" Eddie pulls another apple out before the horse decides he's taking too long and does it for him.

“Yeah, I guess we have.”

"How long?"

"Fuck, um. Near on twenty years at this point."

Damn. "So, you'd say you've got a lot of experience with relationships, then?"

"You're fishing." Bev closes the poultice tin and lifts the horse's leg back onto her lap. "If you wanna say something, then say it."

"How'd you know?" Eddie asks. "Y'know, that he was the one you should be with?"

"I didn't," Bev replies, gently applying the poultice. Eddie shoves the apple in front of the horse and she's too distracted to move a whit. "You think we got to where we are without twenty years of building that trust and love? Nah, not us. Suppose others might have a different opinion, but I don't believe in love at first sight."

"Right, yeah, of course." Eddie's never believed it either, but the last few days have been straining a lot of his beliefs about the world. Making him feel out of sorts about things like the future, and what he needs to be content. Who he needs, which he thought was nobody, before coming to Derry.

But maybe she's right; maybe he shouldn't overmuch place his hopes in a relationship he's only had for three days, no matter how right inside it makes him feel. No matter how much it soothes the hurt he's carried for the last twenty years.

"Hey." Eddie got lost in that thought, and Bev calls him back to the present. "Doesn't mean you shouldn't go for it. Life's too short to second guess yourself. You find somebody you think is your person, then make it work."

"What if you already thought you'd found them a long time ago?" Eddie asks. "And you lost 'em?"

"Then maybe they were your person for then. Not now. Are you the same person you were then? You need the same kind of person you did then?"

"I suppose not."

Bev nods and stands up, dusting off her pants. "I think living your life wishing for what you could've had instead of striving for what you can have is a pretty stupid way to live."

Hmmm. Something to consider.

Eddie leaves her then, deciding he's had enough fresh air. Only, when he goes back inside and up the stairs, he can hear voices from Stan and Richie's room, and sees the door is cracked open.

He should leave them be. He's listened through many a cracked door or window, but it'd be wrong to do it here, wouldn't it?

Aw, fuck it.

Eddie moves towards his own door, opening and shutting it as if he's gone in. Then he quietly toes his way back to theirs, pressing himself next to the wall as the voices within become audible.

"-think you really need to take a step back and consider how damn ridiculous that sounds." That's Stan's voice.

Richie's voice comes next. "I know it does, alright? But I swear to you, Stan, it's like I'm seeing a ghost. Every time I look at him-"

"And you know why that's impossible."

"I know, alright?!" Richie sounds as distressed as he was before; not the suave, smooth talker he'd tried to be the first time he saw Eddie. "I just- do you think, maybe..."

"Maybe what? Richie, we went back. They showed us the grave. _They found his body._ So, you tell me how to explain it."

"I don't know!" The bed shifts, and two boots thump against the floor. "Maybe they lied."

"Richie..." Someone takes a step, and clothing rustles. "For every bit of evidence that makes you believe it's him, there's another bit of evidence proving it can't be."

"So, you say."

"You already know why I think you're pushing for this."

"Yeah, and it's bullshit."

"You're not sorry, then? You don't wish you could fix how you left things? You're not projecting this all onto Eddie?"

"Fuck you. That's not what this is." Someone takes a few too many steps towards the door, and that's Eddie's cue to leave, sneaking back into his room and shutting the door silently.

Eddie lets out a deep sigh and thunks his head back against the door.

Fuck. Between his conversation with Richie, and now this, things are starting to become clearer. Richie feels protective of Eddie because he reminds Richie of someone he failed to protect. Some love he let down, and who died because of it. Except, well, Eddie doesn't remind Richie of this person. Richie believes he _is_ that person.

And Stan's right. That's utterly impossible.

Sure, Eddie's loved and lost before. But now he's older, wiser, and even though he still feels that heartache, he knows what he experienced was a sham.

Simon never loved him. Simon had a job to do, and he did it. Simon used him.

Richie's spent practically every moment in Eddie's presence in service to him.

Eddie let himself love a shadow of what he thought love was supposed to be. He loved it for so long that now when something real comes along, something good, he's doubting it. And it's not like he's innocent of getting his feelings for Richie tangled up in his feelings for an old flame. It's not like there aren't similarities there. Maybe Richie's not the only one who has moments where he feels like he's seen a ghost.

And maybe that'll have to be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drama! Conflict! Bev and Eddie bonding time! Horses! What could be next? Wait and see!


	6. The Magnificent Seven

Richie doesn't come back to Eddie's room, and Eddie's too keyed up to get much sleeping done. Instead, he lays out his pistols on the dresser and uses a wirehair brush to clean dirt and grit off the handle, and steel polish to bring them back to a pleasing shine. If Eddie has had no one else to rely on for twenty years, he's at least had these. Bought with much of the money Eddie had absconded with when he fled his hometown, and about as powerful as an imbued pistol can get because of that expense, they've gotten him out of more scrapes than he can count.

And now, working the polish into the barrel of his Water pistol, he reflects on how damn sad it is that he's put more trust in these old things than other people.

He's just ready to move onto the next one when he hears a loud slam from downstairs which makes him jump and instinctively whip the gun around to point at the door. Then he hears Bill screaming something he can't make out, and the sound of thundering footsteps on the landing.

Fuck. He quickly shoves the weapons back into their holsters and yanks his door open to see Ben run past. When Eddie steps out onto the landing, he freezes in shock.

Blood. Blood splattering across the floorboards near the entrance, running down Bill's arms as he tries and fails to keep pressure on the spurting neck wound of Deputy Nuñez. She's laid out on the floor, propped up against Bill's chest. Her eyes are wide in shock, and she's gasping for air like a fish. It looks like someone took a blade to her throat.

"S-somebody g-get me a t-tourniquet!" Bill hollers as Eddie stampedes down the stairs after Ben. Richie and Stan have already made it to the fallen deputy, and Stan goes to his knees in front of her.

"What the fuck is going on?" Eddie asks, and is ignored by everyone except Richie, who spares him a glance before looking back to his partner.

"Bill, let go of her neck," Stan snaps. "I can help her, but you have to move your hands, right now."

"What are you g-going to do?" Bill yelps.

"Bill, now!"

Bill yanks his hands away, and the wound spurts wildly for a brief moment before Stan's hands are gripping Nuñez's throat.

“Sorry, this is going to hurt.”

His pupils dilate and flare with the glowing golden energy of a spell. Eddie hears hissing, and watches as steam rises from beneath Stan's hands. Nuñez arches up; her mouth opens wide in a silent cry, until all at once a loud, pained scream echoes from her throat. The blood that was spurting from her neck turns to a trickle, and as Stan pulls his hands away, Eddie can see that the wound on her neck is now a closed scar.

"How the fuck did you do that?" Eddie asks, gaping in shock.

"Blood's what, something like ninety percent water?" Stan shrugs, wiping his hands on a towel that Bev has snagged from behind the bar. "I just transferred my energy to make it heat enough to sear the skin closed."

"We can d-do that?" Bill asks. He doesn't wait for Stan to answer, instead moving to help Nuñez rest against the wall. "R-Rosa, what happened?"

"Bill, we got jumped," Nuñez rasps. She closes her eyes, fatigued from the blood loss and shock of almost dying. "Mike and I were patrolling together, and these four guys came up on us. Never stood a chance. I barely got away."

"Bowers," Richie says, glancing at Eddie. "It's gotta be."

"Where's Mike?" Bill demands, gripping her shoulders.

"They took him," she says, pressing a hand to her throat. "Wanted me dead but wanted him alive."

Bill looks stricken, frozen. Bev pulls out a gun and motions to the door. "Where are the other two deputies?"

"They were patrolling... other side of town," Nuñez mutters. Her head droops to the side. "Gotta go find them."

"You rest, ma'am," Ben says. "We'll find them."

Bev nods. "Stan, clean yourself up. Richie, Eddie, you think you two can track down Everett and Galloway? Ben and I will see if we can find Mike. We'll follow the blood trail."

"Who put you in charge, Marsh?" Richie questions.

"Do you have a better idea?" Bev counters.

"She's right, Rich. Just go," Stan says. "Bill, come on, we all need to get cleaned up."

"I'm c-coming with you to find Mike," Bill insists, rising to his feet. "I c-can't just l-l-leave him out there!"

"You'll do him a lot more good here right now," Stan says. "We don't know if there are any more of Bowers' men out there, waiting to ambush us. And Nuñez still needs help."

Bill looks between Stan and Nuñez for a moment before cursing. "F-fine, help me get her up."

There's an awful-looking blood trail on the ground leading west when the four of them get outside. Bev and Ben follow it while Richie and Eddie head to the east, guns drawn.

"Let's keep to cover, can you watch my back?" Eddie asks.

"Course I can, short stuff," Richie replies, sliding into place behind him.

They move into an alleyway and pass through to the next street; Eddie peeks his head out to the left, then to the right, seeing only empty road and hearing only silence. There are lights on in some houses, and faces peeking through the windows, curious as to the commotion happening in the center of town.

Eddie motions to a man in one window, who opens his door a crack. "Hey, did you see the deputies pass by here recently?"

"Maybe ten minutes ago," the man replies. "They were heading that way, I think?" He motions farther east.

"Thanks." The man shuts his door as swiftly as he opened it. Eddie looks to Richie. "Should we just call out for them? Maybe they just haven't heard the commotion."

"This town's not that big, Eddie," Richie says. "If they haven't gone back to the tavern, I've got a bad feeling something is preventing them from doing that."

"Fuck." Eddie nods towards the next alleyway. "Alright, let's keep going then."

It's another two streets over that Richie spots it, grabbing Eddie's shoulder and tugging him back into the alley.

"Look!" he hisses, motioning to the alley between two abandoned buildings. There's a cracked lantern lying on the ground, candle wax dripping out of the glass.

"Shit." Eddie glances left and right. This street looks empty too, no strange men lying in ambush. "Cover me, I'll check it out."

Eddie bursts from the alley, Richie at his heels, a pistol in each hand to cover either side of the street. Nothing jumps out at them; nothing makes a sound other than the dusty ground under their feet.

Eddie rounds the corner of the alley, skidding to a halt so fast that Richie almost topples into him.

"Oh, _fucking spells_!" Eddie gasps, his stomach curdling.

Laid out on the ground in front of him are Everett and Galloway. They lie in puddles of their own blood, throats slashed, eyes wide, staring up at nothing, sheen in the dull pallor of death.

"Coal-damn it!" Richie curses. "Coal-fucking-damn it! This is bad, this is so fucking bad."

"No shit, Richie," Eddie says, swallowing back nausea as he leans in to press his fingers to Everett's neck. No pulse. He checks Galloway next with the same result. "They're gone."

"Hey, what's that?" Richie motions to a piece of paper caught under a rock next to Everett's head. It flutters wildly in the prairie wind as Eddie leans down and tugs it free. It's folded in half, and his heart sinks when he sees his own name written on the outside.

"It's for me," Eddie says, swallowing and opening the page. There's a short, handwritten note inside.

_Come to Coyote Point alone at midnight tonight. Your life for the sheriff's. We'll kill him if you don’t come, or if you bring anyone with you._

"Eds?" Richie asks, hovering.

Eddie shoves the note into his pocket and turns on his heel. "Don’t call me that. Come on, we've got to tell the others."

Richie is a firm wall, standing in Eddie's way. "What'd the note say, Eddie?"

"Don't worry about it."

"Eddie-”

“Richie, we don’t have time for this!” Eddie explodes. “We need to go back to the others and come up with a plan.” He shoves past Richie, ignoring the hurt look on Richie’s face. “And we need to clean up these bodies. No need to have the townsfolk in a panic.”

He can sense Richie repressing the urge to argue, which for him must take every molecule of willpower he has. Well, he can keep his arguments to himself. Eddie’s already made a decision, and it’s the only one he can live with.

Even if it means he won’t live much longer to regret it.

~

When they converge back at the inn, Ben and Bev relay their own search, which came up empty. They found the spot where Mike and Nuñez got jumped, but no sign of the sheriff. Richie and Eddie reveal their discovery of the other two deputies; Eddie doesn’t mention the note, and Bill and Stan choose that moment to return from putting Nuñez to bed in Richie and Stan’s room.

“She’s going to be woozy for a while, but no permanent damage, I think,” Stan says. He’s washed himself off and changed his shirt. “What’s the plan, then?”

“We need to get those bodies off the street,” Eddie says, giving Bill a sympathetic look when he curses and clenches his fists. “And then we’ll find Mike.”

“They c-could be anywhere by now!” Bill says, voice raising in anger. “How do we know where to look?”

“The note,” Richie says, turning to Eddie. “Show us the note.”

Eddie hesitates, curling his fist around the paper in his pocket. “You’re not going to like it.”

“As if we like any part of this, Kaspbrak?” Bev snaps. “Show us the Coal-damned note.”

Eddie sighs and pulls it out, handing it off to Ben. He folds his arms, waiting as the rest of them gather around Ben, reading it over his shoulder. “I already know what you’re all going to say, but I don’t give a damn. I’m going to go, and nobody here had better try stopping me.”

“Of course you’re going,” Stan replies. “And we’re coming with you.”

Eddie scowls. “Um, hello? Did you not read the end of that note? They said they’ll kill Mike if I show up with anyone else!”

“Eddie,” Ben says in a chiding voice. “Do you honestly think we’re letting you walk into an obvious trap with no backup?”

“You dumbass,” Bev says. “You think they’ll just let Mike go if you turn yourself over? They already killed two other members of law enforcement. They will kill you both, and then they will come here and raze this place to the ground.”

Eddie feels a firm grip on his shoulder and turns to see Bill glaring at him. “M-Mike would never forgive me if I let you t-trade yourself for him. Don’t be a f-f-fucking idiot, Eddie.”

“You’re all insane.” Eddie shakes his head. “You don’t even _know_ me, so why should you care about trouble I got myself into?”

“Eddie, I hate to tell you this, buddy, but you’re a pretty open book,” Ben says cheerfully. “I knew I liked you about five minutes after meeting you.”

“Yeah, despite the whining and over-dramatics, you’re a pretty cool guy,” Stan says, shrugging. “And you make Richie happy, so I have a vested interested in keeping you alive.”

“Haven’t you ever had f-friends before, Eddie?” Bill asks.

Friends?

“I... well I...” Eddie stammers, at a loss.

“Good fucking spells, that’s just _sad_ ,” Bev says. She smiles and nudges Eddie in the shoulder playfully. “No wonder you can’t take help when it’s offered.”

Eddie looks to Richie then, bewildered. “Not that I need to ask, but I’m guessing you agree with them?”

Richie, who’s been awfully quiet until now, steps forward and rests his hands on Eddie’s shoulders.

“Thought that was obvious when I literally challenged Bowers to a duel to the death over you. No, I think it’s time you had some people to rely on, Eddie. Stop acting like you have to take on the world by yourself.”

Eddie sighs and drops his head, resting it against Richie’s shoulder. “I’m not trying to, Richie. I just don’t think somebody else should have to die for my mistakes.”

“We’re not dying for your mistakes, dipshit,” Stan says. “And nobody is dying, anyway. We’re gonna go find Mike, spring him and then kick Bowers’ ass so hard he’ll be running back West with his tail between his legs.”

“Time to bag us some outlaws, folks!” Ben shouts, grinning as wide as his mouth will allow. “Wood-damn, I’ve been itching for some action!”

“Oh fuck, here he goes. Now we have to shoot some bad guys, or he’ll never shut up about it,” Bev complains affably.

“I’m c-coming too,” Bill insists.

“You’re not a hunter!” Richie says.

“I’m perfectly c-capable of sh-shooting something!” Bill argues back.

Eddie lets the rest of the debate dissolve into the background, as he focuses on the warm press of Richie’s hands on his body, and the quiet comfort of being surrounded by these people who are willing to fight for him like no one ever has. These amazing humans, these strange yet wonderful... friends?

Huh. Okay.

Friends.

~

Somehow, Bill convinces them all to let him come with them. Eddie figures that even if they told him no, he’d been trailing them on his horse soon after, so better he travels with the group than on his lonesome.

Eddie considers what he’d do, if someone had taken Richie and he was told to stay behind. He’s a little uncomfortable with the answer.

Nuñez has stirred by the time they bring the bodies of Everett and Galloway back to the sheriff’s office. She leans into Bill, looking them over as the hunters gently wrap them in cloth tarps and lay them down in the cells.

“I’m s-sorry, Rosa,” Bill says.

“It’s fine,” she says, dry-eyed, her expression determined. “I’ll let their families know. You all go bring our sheriff back.”

They mount up and head out, galloping out of town in one unit, heading north towards the mountains.

“Coyote Point is about a mile from the m-mountain range,” Bill explains as they ride. “We’ll have t-to be careful about our approach. There’s a grove of t-trees that should give us some cover.”

“It needs to look like I’m by myself,” Eddie shouts over the clamor of hooves. “I’ll split off after we figure out a plan.”

Bill signals them to slow as they crest a hill. As he said, there’s a stretch of trees ahead of them, and they slow to a trot as they enter the grove, coming to a halt in the middle of it.

Bev and Stan each pull out a pair of binoculars and follow Bill up the hilly slope of the other side of the grove, keeping low to the ground, getting on their bellies as they approach the top of the ridge. Richie, Eddie and Ben follow at a short distance, crouching and waiting a ways back as the other three scout over the top.

“How do you want to do this?” Ben murmurs to Eddie. “We could surround the point and see if they’ve got Mike tucked away somewhere while you lure our Bowers. Or we could do an ambush charge, maybe they won’t be ready for it.”

“Too risky,” Eddie says, shaking his head. “I need to go up there alone.”

“What if he just pulls out a gun and shoots you?” Richie mutters. “You can’t walk in there by yourself.”

“I can and I will. No, listen to me,” Eddie says when Richie looks primed to argue. “Bowers is a maniac. He’s never been the type to get a job done quick and clean. He’ll want to make an example of me to his boys, teach them that he’s still not worth crossing. I’d bet my life on him not dispatching me quick.”

“That isn’t comforting,” Richie grumbles. “Fucking spells, Eddie, that’s a disaster waiting to happen.”

“Maybe we send one person with you?” Ben suggests. “Tell them we know they’ll double cross us about Mike, so we sent someone to collect him.”

“I could write you an itemized list of all the ways that could go wrong, like, to begin with-”

“Hey, guys?” Bev says, making all three of them jump. “I think we might have a different problem.”

“The note said m-midnight, right?” Bill asks.

“Yeah,” Eddie replies. “Why?”

“Well, it’s about five minutes to midnight, and I don’t see anybody down there,” Stan says. “Here, come see.”

Eddie crawls up next to Stan and takes his binoculars, scanning across the horizon.

Coyote Point is a visible outcropping of rock in the middle of flat prairie grass that looks like the open mouth of a howling canine. It’s not surrounded by any brush or trees that would obscure their view, and from the height of this hill, they can see over the top of the rocks to the other side. Despite this, nobody is in sight.

“Maybe they’re late?” Bev suggests. “Can’t imagine they’ve been winding their watches that well.”

“Maybe they’re hiding,” Ben suggests. “Maybe they already saw us coming?”

“That’s a whole lot of _maybes_ ,” Richie says. “None of which are comforting.”

“Well, there’s one way to figure out if they’re down there,” Eddie says, getting to his feet. “Cover me.”

“What the f-fuck are you doing?” Bill hisses. “Get back d-down!”

Eddie ignores Bill, striding forward, digging his heels into the sloping ground.

“Hey, Bowers!” Eddie shouts. “I’m here! Come on out!”

“Eddie!” Richie yelps. “You trying to get killed?”

Eddie keeps walking, half-jogging down the hill, arms held out to keep his balance on the steep incline. He calls out, “You said you’d trade me for Mike, right? Well, let’s get a move on, we don’t got all day!”

There’s nothing but the sound of the wind blowing across the prairie as Eddie approaches the rocks. He circles them carefully, continuing to call for Bowers, but finds no one, and gets no response. When he rounds back to the other side of the rocks, the other hunters and Bill are hoofing it down the hill after him.

“They’re not here,” Eddie reports when they reach him. “I don’t get it.”

“This doesn’t feel right,” Bev says. “Bowers came running when his boys found you in Derry. Now he just doesn’t show up to the place and time he picked out to come collect you?”

“Are there any other Coyote Points around here?” Stan asks Bill.

Bill shakes his head. “It would be kind of p-pointless if there was, don’t you think? _Oh, we’re meeting at this C-Coyote Point, not that one._ Confusing.”

“Okay, well, they must be somewhere in the area,” Ben suggests. “We’re near the mountains, right? Plenty of caves a gang of outlaws could hide in.”

“S-so what, we’re just supposed to search them all?” Bill snaps. “That could t-take hours! Mike could be d-dead by then!”

“We’re kinda running out of choices here, Big Bill,” Richie says. “Do you have a better-”

A bloodcurdling scream from the north sends them all scrambling for their guns.

“Well, that’s a terrible sign,” Eddie says. Whoever made that sound is in a whole world of hurt.

“At least it’s a lead,” Bev says. “Come on, let’s see where that came from.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah the title of this one isn't a pun, just the straight up title of the movie but this was too perfect not to include.


	7. Dances with Demons

The mouth of the cavern is a wide thing, stalactites and stalagmites hanging down and bursting up from the ground in tooth-like patterns. A little too on the nose; nature has a sense of humor. Ten feet in, the moonlight cuts off, leaving the depths pitch black, impossible to discern what’s happening. There are noises - yells, screams, thudding - coming from inside. All signs point to getting the fuck out of there as fast as possible.

The body on the ground at the entrance complicates things.

Eddie swings off his horse and approaches the still form, hunching down. The body lies on its face, limbs sprawled akimbo, blood trailing behind it into the mouth of the cave. Eddie can’t dismiss that feeling of familiarity and shoving the body onto its front only confirms what he dreaded: it’s the teenager from Bowers’ gang. His eyes are wide and empty, face frozen in terror. His chest has been torn apart, jagged claw marks and missing organs just like the other bodies.

“Fucking spells,” Stan curses. “He’s what, maybe fourteen?”

“And part of Bowers’ gang,” Eddie says, rising to his feet. He rips his Coal pistol out of its holster, feeling a rush of anger. Even after all this time, the memory of his encounters with Bowers burn bright at the forefront of his mind. Watching young men and women with sharp minds but no futures placing their hopes in that monster, and being exploited for it, right into an early grave. And as much as this kid was responsible for Eddie almost dying, he didn’t deserve this.

Bowers is going to pay.

“Looks like Bowers found the Coal Demon before we did,” Ben comments. “If we go in there, we’ll be fighting two enemies at once. We could let them kill each other off, except Mike’s definitely in there too.”

“No option otherwise,” Bev says. “Is everyone going to be able to fight?”

“I d-don’t have a gun,” Bill comments.

“Oh. Here,” Eddie says, handing off his Coal pistol. He pulls his fourth gun out and tucks it into the holster for easier access. “It’s imbued, I know it’s not your proficiency but it’s better for dealing with Bowers. You ever shot one of these before?”

“Of c-course,” Bill says, checking the chamber before snapping it shut. “Alright. Let’s not draw attention to ourselves if we can help it. Find M-Mike, get out. We’ll worry about the D-Demon another time.”

“Look at Bill over here, giving orders!” Richie crows, smacking him on the back. “I love it, big man. Mike’s gonna swoon over your take-charge attitude.”

“Stop patronizing him, Richie,” Bev snaps. “Bill, honey, we’ll find Mike. I promise.”

“What- I mean it! I’m one-hundo percent behind Denbrough’s plan!” Richie glances wildly between them all as they walk away from him. “You guys? Eddie, baby, back me up here?”

“Can’t back you up if I’m in front of you, baby!” Eddie calls back, chuckling when Richie lets out an undignified sound and scrambles to catch up to them.

“I’m the one in this relationship who makes the bad jokes, not you. Clear boundary violation, Kaspbrak.” Richie grabs his shoulder and leans in, planting a wet kiss on Eddie’s cheek. “I’ll forgive you if you promise not to die in some dumbass self-sacrificing gambit.”

“Okay, okay, Richie,” Eddie says. “No self-sacrificing. Got it.”

And he won’t... if he can help it.

The dirt under their feet grows damp as they journey downward, lit by a single lantern held by Ben. He keeps one hand on the screen latch, in case they need to douse the light quickly. The walls are as damp as the ground, and the temperature inside rises as they descend. Eddie swears he can hear running water. Maybe there’s an underground hot spring?

Fifty feet into the cave, they come upon another body. This woman has been mutilated as well, long claw marks cutting her hands and face to ribbons. She seems to have been crawling out of a passage to the left, but when Eddie strains his hearing, he can’t hear any nearby animal sounds, like grunting or panting, coming from that direction.

“Bill, what do you know about this cave system?” Stan asks.

“Not much.” Bill shrugs. “There are dozens of entrances like this along the mountain range. Anything could be living down here, and I have no idea how deep these go.”

An angry yell echoes out of the passage ahead, while gunshots snap off down the passage to their right. The group freezes, looking at one another.

“I hate to say this,” Bev says. “But this will be faster if we split up- and this time, speed is actually of the essence.”

“Fuck.” Eddie motions to the left passage. “Ben, Bev, check that one. Richie, Stan, grab the middle. Bill and I will take the right. Meet back here in five minutes, and if you can’t, then the rest of us will come and find you.”

“Nobody get eaten by a horrible magic monster, got it?” Richie says. “Or I’m spending your portion of the reward money on booze and more flowery vests.”

“A chilling outcome,” Ben jokes. “I’m definitely motivated to not die, unlike before, when I was totally cool with it.”

“Here that, Beverly?” Richie teases. “Now your boy toy will live, say thank you.”

“Richie, if you ever call me Beverly again, Eddie and Stan won’t have enough left of you to bury,” Bev says, calmly. Eddie thinks she’s not joking.

Bill might not have spent near on his whole life as a hunter, but he’s smart enough to keep his eyes open and his mouth shut as they shuffle their way down the passage. He’s lit another lantern, but they keep the light dim, just a thin beam lighting their way forward. The tunnel gets smaller and smaller the deeper they go, and at one point, they have to press themselves to the wall to scoot through a narrow gap to the other side.

“Thank the Triad I’m not claustrophobic,” Eddie mutters as they emerge into a larger passage. “How are you doing there, Bill?”

“Fine,” Bill says, dusting dirt off his shirt. “You think Bowers c-could’ve brought Mike through here?”

“It’s possible,” Eddie says. “Or maybe they got here coming a different way.”

“Mike had b-better be okay,” Bill says. “I s-swear, I don’t know what I’ll d-do if he’s not.”

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says. “If it wasn’t for me-”

“N-no,” Bill says, grabbing Eddie’s arm. “You don’t get to take the b-blame. The only one to blame is Bowers.” He looks like he won’t accept any other answer, so Eddie isn’t going to push it. They’ve got more important things to worry about.

The sound of angry voices echoes down the tunnel as they round the corner. There’s a flickering light through a gap ahead, and Eddie and Bill approach cautiously. Eddie slows and puts a hand in front of Bill as they get close enough for Eddie to recognize the voice.

“ _What the fuck was that_?” Bowers screeches. “You fucking tell me right now, or I swear to the Triad, I’ll leave you for that thing to get like it got my boys!”

“I told you.” Mike’s voice is strained, weary. On the edge of pained. Eddie and Bill glance at one another. “It’s a Coal Demon. That’s all-”

There’s a loud cracking sound as one object strikes another. Bill lunges forward, only staying in cover because Eddie grabs the back of his shirt and mouths _don’t give our fucking position away!_

Carefully, Eddie peeks his head around the rock wall, peering into the chamber in front of them. It’s a small cavern, no more than twenty feet wide, with several branching entrances and exits. Bowers stands in the center, holding Mike by the front of his shirt. Mike’s hands are bound behind his back, and his head is twisted to the side in a grimace, a long trail of blood leaking down his chin. One of his eyes is blackened.

“It’s not a fucking Coal Demon!” Bowers shrieks. He jabs Mike’s chest with the end of his gun. “Coal Demons go after Coal mages! This thing didn’t care what kinda mages my boys were, it just ate ‘em! So fucking try again!”

Mike shakes his head. “I don’t know, okay? That’s the only idea I had!”

“Then you’re useless to me!” Bowers cocks his gun and presses it under Mike’s jaw.

Eddie doesn’t think, just acts. He pulls two pistols and strafes to the side.

“Hey!” he calls, not wanting to spook Bowers and risk the gun going off. “Didn’t we have a meeting tonight?”

Bowers shifts his eyes to Eddie and Bill, who’s moved from cover to join him.

“You!” Bowers hisses. He keeps the gun pointed at Mike’s throat, and Eddie can sense Bill’s distress; he prays to the Triad that Bill doesn’t try anything reckless. “What the _fuck_ are you doing here?”

“Trying to fix things,” Eddie says. “Now, Henry, it sounds like you’re dealing with a little Demon issue?”

Bowers cackles crazily. “Oh, now you make jokes, you cowardly little rat? This is your fault! If you had just come with me the first time, none of your little friends would be in danger!”

“That’s true,” Eddie says. “But that’s the weird thing about friends. They, like, care about you and shit? So, how are we gonna resolve this?”

The pounding of footsteps makes Eddie turn to see Stan and Richie barreling down another tunnel, emerging with pistols pointed at Bowers.

“Hey, look at that!” Richie exclaims, grinning at Eddie. “Good news, we found Bowers!”

“Actually, we found him f-first,” Bill points out.

More footsteps to their right, and Bev and Ben emerge from yet another tunnel.

“I guess all roads lead here,” Bev says, aiming her pistol at Bowers’ skull.

“Exactly where we needed to be,” Ben says, waving cheerily at Eddie.

Bowers looks at them casually chatting like they’ve all gone insane.

“You fucks listen to me!” he screams, jerking Mike up and twisting back to face Eddie. “You take another step and I’ll put a bullet in his brain!”

“You’re surrounded,” Stan says. “Just give yourself up and maybe we’ll all make it out of here without being eaten by whatever’s eating your boys.”

“No, no fucking way! I want what I’m owed!” He jerks his head towards Eddie. “I know you, Kaspbrak. If the sheriff dies, you won’t be able to live with yourself, even if you kill me.”

Eddie winces. “So, what do you want?”

“I wanted to see you suffer! Wanted to watch you scream and cry while I peeled your fucking skin off your bones,” Bowers shrieks. “But now I’ll just take you _dead_.”

“Not happening, numb nuts,” Richie snaps. “Try again.”

“What’s it gonna be, Eddie?” Bowers yells. “You, or the sheriff?”

They’re wasting time here, arguing with Bowers. That Demon could come in here any moment, and if it’s been eating mages, it’s gotten more powerful. Eddie needs to end this, and quick.

“How about this?” Eddie asks. “We both had seconds at that last duel. This time, no seconds. You and me, Henry. Here and now, we’ll end this. If I die, my crew lets you walk out of here alive. It’s the best option you’ll get.”

“ _Eddie_ ,” Bill hisses. “You’re still recovering from a c-concussion. You won’t be fast enough.”

“This is a stupid plan! I don’t agree to this plan at all!” Richie yelps, glaring at Eddie.

“Would you trust me for Wood-damned once!” Eddie shouts. “I can do this.”

Friends are great, but they can only take you to the cliff’s edge. At some point, you’re going to have to hold your own breath and jump.

“Eddie-” Richie starts.

Stan cuts him off. “Enough, Richie. Let the man fight his own battles for once.” He looks at Eddie. “I trust you.”

“You got this, little guy,” Ben says.

“You’re lucky Eddie’s such a generous guy, Bowers,” Bev snaps, grinning. “None of us would be so nice.”

“Now, you gotta let Mike go to do this,” Eddie says. He slowly raises his hands and slides his pistols back into their holsters. “I swear on my mama’s grave, you let Mike go, and we’ll get this done. No tricks. You know I’m not like that.”

“Sure, but I don’t know what the rest of your little gang of losers is like!” Bowers snaps.

“I’d rather b-be a loser than an evil asshole like you,” Bill mutters.

“ _Not now, Bill._ And my gang isn’t gonna try anything either,” Eddie says. “Come on Bowers, haven’t you wanted this? I’m right here for the taking.”

Bowers seems to be thinking - shocker, that - about his options. He must not like any others, because he curses and lowers his gun from Mike’s jaw. Eddie hears Bill breathe a sigh of relief next to him.

“Go,” Bowers snarls as he shoves Mike away. Mike stumbles to the side, catching himself as Bill rushes forward to support him. They scamper safely out of the way. At least there’s one problem taken care of.

“Let’s do this fast,” Eddie says. “Face away, count to three, turn and fire.”

“All your buddies need to put their weapons away too!” Bowers snaps, motioning with his gun.

“They’re not gonna shoot you!” Eddie says.

“You want this done fast?” Bowers retorts. “Or you wanna argue? The longer we wait, the closer that thing gets to coming in and making this standoff a non-issue.”

“For fuck’s- fine.” Eddie motions to the group. “Holster ‘em, everyone.”

None of them look very pleased by the request, but everyone listens, putting their guns away. Richie looks at Bowers with murder in his eyes, like he’s five seconds from lunging at Bowers and taking care of him, gun or no gun.

“See?” Eddie says. “They listened. Now can we hurry this up?”

Bowers smiles, tongue pressed against the back of his teeth. It’s a menacing look, and one far too crazed and desperate for Eddie’s liking.

“Oh, Eddie, Eddie, Eddie,” Bowers croons. “You were always too soft for this life.”

Then he whips his gun up, and fires.

~

The next second is the longest second of Eddie’s life.

It begins when he hears the crack of Bowers’ bullet, sees the angry fireball bursting out of the wide-mouthed barrel of Bowers’ gun.

Now, the thing to know about magic is, any kind of bullet imbued with power is a lot slower than your average steel bullet. Eddie’s never understood the science - something about drag and the weight of power, blah blah blah - but you don’t need to understand the in-depth mechanisms to get the point. Steel shots are near instantaneous. They’re also a lot more localized, and when you’re looking to hit a wide target with a lot of force, and maybe your aim’s a little shaky, it’s a lot safer to go with magic. After all, slow magic is still faster than most humans can react to.

In the first ten milliseconds of the longest second of Eddie’s life, a lifetime’s worth of preparation makes him reach for his pistol as his leg muscles clench and release, launching him backwards.

The next thing you should know is that when two opposing magics meet, they literally _meet_. As in, the point which they collide becomes a maelstrom of dueling magical energies; a deadly clash of power. Whoever wins is dependent not only on proficiency but also on the power of the wielder and the amount of magic they can channel through that weapon.

Bowers is a Wood mage, and by using his proficient weapon, the power behind this shot will be abnormally high. He’ll also be thrusting as much power through this shot as he physically can; Bowers never takes half-measures with dishing out damage. If you aren’t dead after the first shot, he’ll consider it a failure.

This is what Eddie’s thinking when he reaches for his Coal pistol. Coal beats Wood, and maybe, if Eddie puts as much magical energy as he can into the bullet, it’ll shield him long enough to get out of the way of Bowers’ shot.

It's not a bad plan, and it might have worked. But there’s a slight problem.

See, Eddie doesn’t have his Coal pistol. Bill does. That’s never been part of Eddie’s meticulously detailed preparation. He never factored in the need to _share_.

No, the pistol in his Coal holster is just a plain one. No imbued proficiency for Eddie’s magic to be channeled through. Only boring steel bullets.

Eddie doesn’t realize this until it’s too late. He’s already shoved his energy into the weapon, and twenty-two milliseconds after Bowers fires his gun, Eddie fires back.

What does a regular steel bullet do, when given that kind of energy? Will the bullet explode inside the gun? Turn into shrapnel instantaneously, failing to do anything besides sputtering uselessly outwards? Maybe the gun itself will explode, and Eddie will die in a painful splinter of steel and heat.

If you bet someone in this world a thousand dollars to come up with the correct answer, and told them they had from now until the end of time to get it right, you’d still have your money when the universe finally rips itself apart.

The bullet does not explode. Neither does the gun. Instead, a shrieking yellow-white arc of power tears out of the barrel and collides in a shower of sparks with the fireball. Eddie can only fall backwards in shock as the competing magics flare, and this new, crackling power lances through Bowers’ shot. Faster than fire, faster than coal dust, faster even than steam, the yellow-white beam screams through the air and smashes into Henry Bowers’ chest.

Bowers’ scream is anguished, primal. His body locks up as the power courses into him, and Eddie watches in horror as his eyes roll back, the ends of his hair begin to smoke, and every muscle spasms. He falls backwards as awful red blisters break out over every inch of his skin. Eddie smells burning flesh. He forces the urge to vomit away as Bowers stops screaming, and the echoes bounce off the cave walls and fade away into an eerie silence.

Eddie is frozen, gaping down at Bowers, who is twitching as sparks lance off the ends of his hair and fingertips. He might be moving, but Eddie sees no life in his eyes. He’s dead.

“Fucking _spells_ ,” Eddie shudders.

“Eddie, what the fuck?!” Richie looks seriously freaked out, as do the rest of his friends. “What did you do?!”

“I- I don’t know!” Eddie stares down at his gun- this plain little pistol, which should not be capable of that - and watches little sparks flickering out of the gaps between the barrel and the bullet chamber.

They all jump when an angry, feral roar echoes in the cavern.

“Oh, f-fuck,” Bill says. “We n-need to go!”

Eddie isn’t listening, still staring at his guns, his hands. Feeling the sense of power coursing through him, an incredible rush he’s never experienced before.

Richie runs over and reaches out. “Come on, we need-”

He clamps his hand around Eddie’s wrist, then immediately yelps and lets go when he gets shocked.

“By the Triad, Eddie, what the fuck?”

“Sorry, sorry!” Eddie says. He takes a breath and wills the magic away, back into himself.

“Are you okay?” Richie asks.

“Yeah, yeah,” Eddie says. “Move!”

They fly back down the tunnel that Stan and Richie emerged from. Mike is limping but with Bill’s help he keeps up with the group. Eddie can feel an unnerving rumble in the ground and watches as little flecks of rock and dust tumble off the walls.

Another heart-stopping shriek from behind them makes Eddie pause, before Richie grabs his arm and hauls him forward.

“No time!” Richie shouts.

“That was Bowers!” Eddie gasps.

Oh fuck, he wasn’t dead?

Well, if not before...

“It’ll be after us next!” Bev shouts. “Get a move on, people!”

The horses are whinnying - scared - but thankfully they haven’t bolted. Eddie swings onto his horse while Bill and Ben get Mike onto the back of Bill’s.

“Move, move!” Stan shouts, spinning his horse to the side and nudging it into a gallop.

They’re a hundred feet -at best- from the entrance to the cave when Eddie hears a great roaring and smash of rocks. He glances back and then wishes he hadn’t.

Whatever image Eddie had in his mind of the creature Bill and Mike had encountered, it pales in comparison to the thing following them. It’s eight or nine feet tall, and at least twice as long, lumbering along on six - six! - reptilian legs, three clawed toes on the two sets of hind legs, and five on the two forelegs. Its body is thick and covered in tight grayish-brown skin that looks more suited to a dried desert carcass than a living creature. It has a scaly, spiked, whip-thin tail that seems less designed for balance and more for stabbing its prey. There are two pits on the top of its head smoldering with coal smoke, red embers in the center a poor imitation of pupils. And its mouth... it’s Coal-damned mouth. Six flaps of skin that fold out like a blooming flower, lined with dozens and dozens of razor-sharp teeth. At the very center of its throat lies another flaming ember, from which more black coal smoke emits and dissipates in the air.

Hot damn. Eddie’s never seen a Demon in person, only in picture books read to small children as a warning not to abuse their powers. The real thing is beyond his wildest imaginings.

“How the fuck did that thing pass through town unnoticed?” Eddie shouts to Bill, whose eyes go wide as soon as he looks back.

“It wasn’t that b-big!” Bill yelps. “It got bigger!”

“I saw it kill one of Bowers’ mages!” Mike yells. “A Water mage. Sucked the power right out of her!”

“That doesn’t make sense!” Richie shouts. “Once a mage goes proficient, their power is useless to Demons of other types!”

“Well, tell that to the thing back there!” Stan cries. “What are we gonna do? We gotta come up with a plan, fast!”

“Maybe we head for the woods?” Ben says. “Lose it in- wait, what’s it doing?”

The creature has slowed its gait. It raises whatever passes for a nose and seems to sniff at the air. The hunters put more distance between themselves and the Demon, but there’s no need, as the creature spins on its tail and runs off, headed north.

“That doesn’t seem good,” Bev says as the hunters slow to a halt. “I think it found better prey.”

Eddie squints towards the horizon but sees nothing. They’ve ridden into a valley, so he urges his horse up a nearby hill, trying to spot whatever the creature might’ve sensed. When he sees a trail of black smoke rising in the far distance, he knows they have a problem.

“Mike,” Eddie says. “You told them to hold off the next coal shipment from Ottawa, right?” Eddie asks.

“Yeah, why?” Mike asks.

“Because I think they got tired of waiting.”

The rest of the hunters follow Eddie up the hill, and Mike curses when he spots the smoke.

“Wood-damn it! They’re gonna deliver that thing a feast!”

“Does the train stop in Derry?” Stan asks. “If it keeps going, maybe we can get help before it arrives in Portland.”

“But that means it will still go _through_ D-Derry!” Bill says. “It might destroy half the town and eat any mages unlucky enough to b-be there!”

“So, we gotta stop it before it reaches town,” Richie says.

“How the spell are we supposed to do that?” Bev snaps. “We could unload every bullet we’ve got into that thing and it would probably still keep going!”

“The train’s gotta go east, through the mines first, right?” Ben says. “But we can ride right for town. If we hurry, we might be able to get everyone out.”

“I’m not just going to let this thing destroy my town!” Mike counters. “Come up with a better plan.”

“There’s no time,” Stan says. “Mike, the town’s done for. Better we get your folks out before they get hurt.”

“Eddie?” Richie’s noticed that Eddie has been silent, eyes closed, one hand curled in a fist. “What are you thinking?”

Eddie opens his eyes and his fist, revealing a single plain bullet in his palm. As they watch, sparks crackle across his palm. The bullet rises off his hand, held aloft by little veins of lightning.

“What the _fuck_ ,” Bev says. “Is that fucking _electricity?_ How the fuck are you doing that?”

The sparks disappear and the bullet drops back into Eddie’s palm. He opens his eyes.

“I have a plan,” he says. “It’s gonna sound really fucking stupid, but I need you all to trust me. I think I can save the town.”

“Tell us what to do,” Mike says. “We’ve got no choice but to trust you now.”

The rest of them nod in agreement.

“Okay. The four of you,” Eddie says, motioning to Mike, Bill, Bev, and Ben. “Get everyone as far clear of the town as you possibly can. Then plant charges at the end of the tracks to blow in case this doesn’t work. We can’t let that thing get to Portland, so one way or another, we gotta stop that train.”

“And us?” Richie asks, motioning to himself and Stan.

“Get me on that train,” Eddie says, swinging his horse around. “Come on, I’ll explain on the way!”

~

The two groups race away from one another; the four heading southeast and the three heading east, on the tail of the Demon and the train. Eddie thanks every spirit he can that he knows horses well enough to pick a flyer, and that Stan and Richie’s horses are capable of keeping up with him.

They crest hills and plunge through valleys, picking up speed across a flat plane. The Demon is in sight, and several hundred feet beyond it, the 2am coal train to Portland shines in the light of a full moon.

The Demon seems to keep pace with the train, but thankfully isn’t gaining ground. They give it a wide berth as they pass, because even if the Demon is concentrated on the train, they might seem to be tasty treats if they get too close.

“How far out are we from the mines, you think?” Stan shouts over the wind.

“I’d say about three miles!” Richie yells back. “Seeing as these things tend to top out around thirty miles an hour, that gives us maybe six minutes until the mines? And then another two to the town!”

“That’s not a lot of time!” Stan shouts. “You think they can really clear the place out that fast?”

“I’m hoping they won’t need to if this works!” Eddie yells.

“I still don’t get what you’re gonna do here!” Richie shouts.

“I promise, I’ll explain everything later, Richie!” Eddie yells. “Just trust me!”

They pull abreast of the observation car, and despite the late hour, Eddie is shocked to see at least half a dozen people either sleeping or staring out at them. Fuck, he was hoping that there wouldn’t be any passengers aboard. This is going to make things more difficult.

Speeding up, Eddie races past the dining car and up to the last cargo car. There is a ladder hanging off the side, which is just what he was hoping for.

“What now?” Richie shouts.

“I need one of you to take the horses!” Eddie yells. “And one of you with me!”

“I’ll get the horses!” Stan shouts. “Richie, go, you’ve got this!”

“Are you kidding me?” Richie yells. “Have you ever known me to be graceful enough to pull a stunt like this?”

“Well, there’s a first time for everything!” Stan shouts back.

“We don’t have time to argue!” Eddie shouts. “Make a decision, people!”

“Fuck... fine! But I’m going to point out that this is a very bad idea!” Richie yells. “If I fall and die because I’m too tall to do this, I’m preemptively saying I told you so!”

“Are you really doing fucking short jokes now, of all times, Richie?” Eddie screams.

“You’re not gonna die, you overdramatic bitch!” Stan yells “Now fucking go!”

Eddie gets his horse as close to the car as she’s willing to be, which is just close enough for him to reach out and grab one of the ladder rails. He swings one leg over and plants his foot on the saddle.

Well, here goes nothing. 

He braces himself, and then, with a surprising amount of grace, he launches himself and lands safely on the ladder.

“Nice!” Stan calls, reaching out and snatching the reins of Eddie’s horse. He pulls them back to let Richie come forward next.

Eddie pulls himself up onto the flat roof of the car and then twists around, holding onto the lip of the roof and stretching his hand out.

“Come on, Richie!” Eddie yells. “You can do this!”

“ _Oh,_ _fuck oh shit oh fuck oh shit oh fuck_!” Richie curses, standing tall in the saddle and reaching out to grip the ladder. “I’m not really built for this!”

“Richie, move it!” Eddie insists.

“Alright!” Richie lifts his leg and rests it on the saddle, then stretches his other arm to grab the other side of the ladder. As he shifts his weight off the foot in the stirrup, he must forget his arm injury, because as soon as he tries to pull himself up by that arm, he loses his grip.

Richie yelps and drops, his feet coming off the saddle, leaving him dangling from the ladder by a single hand.

Eddie lunges down and grabs Richie’s free wrist.

“Get your footing!” Eddie screams, using all his might to pull up, even though he knows it’s probably causing Richie so much pain. Still, it’s better than a nasty death under the wheels of a train.

Richie gets his feet on the bottom rungs in a matter of seconds, but to Eddie, it feels like he hangs in the air for days and days. With Eddie’s help, Richie pulls himself up onto the roof. They fall back onto the flat steel, gasping for breath.

“You both good?” Stan calls.

“I think I shit myself, but otherwise, yeah!” Richie calls back.

Eddie opens his mouth to reply when he hears a gunshot. Instinctually, he ducks down, yanking Richie with him. “What the fuck?”

“Oh shit,” Richie says. “I think they realized we’re on the train.”

“No, fucking really?” Eddie looks down to Stan, who is doing an accomplished job tying their horses reins to the back of his saddle. “Stan, get back to town, go help the others!” Eddie shouts.

“Are you sure?” Stan asks. “You’ll be okay by yourselves?”

“We’ll manage!” Richie shouts. “Go, Stan!”

Stan races away while Richie and Eddie rise to their feet, grabbing one another’s arms as the car gives a lurch. The wind makes it a lot harder to stay upright than it would be inside the car itself.

Beyond this cargo car, there’s another, and then two open top coal cars- the Demon’s target. Beyond that is another cargo car, and then finally the front engine, merrily chugging smoke up into the night sky. In the distance, Eddie can see the top of the outcroppings that lead into the mine tunnels. They’ve got four, maybe five minutes.

“What next?” Richie asks.

“If this is going to work, I’m going to have to get the engineer to slow this thing down,” Eddie explains. “I’ll head up to the front. I need you to get all the passengers out of the observation car and into the dining car.”

“You think he’ll be amenable to listening to a couple train hoppers?” Richie asks. “Not gonna assume we’re just trying to rob them?”

As if to make his point, another gunshot echoes from the front of the train. They both duck and then straighten again.

“I think if I point out the furious Demon chasing him down, he’ll listen to whatever I have to say,” Eddie replies. “And you can’t do the acrobatics needed to get up to the cab.”

“I’m taller,” Richie argues. “I can jump farther.”

“I’m lighter,” Eddie retorts. “Gravity works more in my favor.”

“You need to be at the back of the train for this crazy-ass plan to work, Eds! Those guys in the cab are definitely armed!”

“Don’t call me-”

“This is not the fucking time, _Edward_!”

“Look, I’ll deal with that when I get there, okay? Could you just trust me?”

Richie swallows and tightens his grip on Eddie’s elbows, tugging him closer. “Coal-damn it. You know how unbelievably attractive you are when you show off all that confidence?”

Eddie grins up at him. “Oh yeah? Well, you can show me exactly how much you like it after we save this town and kill this fucking Demon.”

It only takes another gentle tug to bring Richie and Eddie chest to chest, and Richie cups Eddie behind the back of the head and kisses him soundly, deeply. The smooth bastard. All Eddie knows for that moment is the sound of Richie’s trench coat flapping in the wind, the feel of Richie’s palm cradling Eddie’s head, and the taste of coal on his lips.

When they pull apart, Richie takes a deep breath and steps back, smiling.

“Don’t die on me, Alfie,” Richie says, and then he’s gone, dropping over the edge of the roof down to the dining car below.

Eddie doesn’t move, frozen in place atop the cargo car. Because that name, that name...

_Alfie._

Only one person has ever... _ever_ called him that...

And atop that moving train, buried memories from twenty years past come rushing back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CLIFFHANGER WOOOOOOOO!!!


	8. My Name is Simon

_Twenty-three Years Prior..._

He receives the summons from his mother just as he’s finishing lunch - a sandwich, eaten in the barn loft while he watches the horses canter around the fenced-in field below. A note handed to him by the stable hand stating that they have had guests arrive to the main house, and he should put on something nice and come to greet them immediately.

Fantastic, more visitors. Just what he loves to hear. What he wouldn’t give to never have visitors again. Less time spent on meaningless pleasantries and people who stare at him as if he’s grown a second head. More time in the woods or with the horses.

He wears his nicest white shirt and blue tailcoat, trying to fuss his hair in the mirror into something that doesn’t make it seem like he’s been mucking around in the stables for several hours. He settles for pressing it flat; nothing like the latest fashions out of New York or Atlanta, but it’ll do for presenting himself briefly.

By the time he makes it down to the doors of the drawing room, Mr. Calvin is coming from the kitchen with a tray of finger sandwiches and the good cheese they had imported from Wisconsin.

“Who rates high enough for that?” he asks, motioning to the tray.

“I’ve never seen them before,” Mr. Calvin replies, shrugging his shoulders. “But apparently they’re looking to purchase a large selection of our horses.”

He sighs. “Guess Ms. Warrish will have no trouble finding room for the new foals this spring.”

Mr. Calvin smiles. “You never sound happy when we sell one, Mr. Kaspbrak.”

“Yeah, well, there’s a reason for that. Give me five minutes in there and then announce I’ve got a delivery to inspect, please.”

“Of course.”

He opens the door and is greeted by the sight of his mother seated on her favorite couch, dressed in a fine silk blouse and loose trousers.

“Oh, Alfred, there you are,” she says, beaming at him. “Come, meet our visitors.”

Edward Alfred Kaspbrak Junior - or Alfred, as everyone knows him, because his mother demanded it after his father died - steps into the drawing room and looks over the two men - well, one man and a boy, if he’s honest - who are visiting. The man is tall, handsome, with deep brown hair and a pleasant smile. The boy is lanky, his clothes don’t fit his frame, but he carries himself with a relaxed air, leaning back into the couch farther than would normally be polite. He’s got a lovely set of blue eyes that seem to glint with mirth, and a mouth designed to land in a perpetual smirk.

Alfred keeps his expression neutral, which is about as good as any guest will get from him. His track record with people is pretty shit. He’s gotten burned too many times to care about making friends, but he hasn’t sunk so low as to purposefully try to undermine his mother’s business ventures. After all, Sonia Kaspbrak might own Kaspbrak Stables, but Alfred will inherit and, the Triad willing, live long enough to keep it prosperous.

“How do you do?” Alfred says. “Mama is always glad to have visitors.”

“Alfred, this is Captain Briggs and his son, Simon,” Sonia says, motioning to their guests. “The Captain is looking to buy some of our horses.”

“Not just any horses,” Captain Briggs says, smiling. “Kaspbrak Stables are known for the best horses in the Eastern Counties. I’m quite excited to see what treasures you have hiding in those stables.”

“Oh, such flattery,” Sonia says, but she’s clearly pleased. “Alfred, they’ll be staying as guests for the next few weeks while we work out the details of our transaction. Could you show Simon to their rooms?”

“I could show him the rest of our property too,” Alfred points out.

“Alfred, your constitution,” Sonia tuts. “You know you tire easily!”

“Oh, I’m sure the boys will be fine having a stroll together,” Mr. Briggs says, winking at Alfred. “Simon’s a very capable young man; he’ll make sure nothing happens to your son.”

“I suppose...” Sonia says uneasily. “Just stay out of the woods. Lots of creatures there with nasty diseases to spread to a boy of poor health.”

Alfred bites back a retort and nods, waiting for Simon to get up and follow him out of the drawing room.

“So, your rooms will be up these stairs,” Alfred says when the door shuts. “Follow me.”

They ascend the stairs silently. Alfred isn’t exactly sure what to say for pleasantries to a young man of his own age. Most of his interactions with peers have resulted in disdain, insults, and a general attitude that Alfred is a dangerous weirdo, a weakling not worth bothering with.

It isn’t as though they’re wrong. The doctors are always in and out of their house, giving him different poultices for maladies he doesn’t even realize he has until his mother kicks up a fuss, usually whenever he behaves in a way that she says is a sign of ‘some ill disease affecting my boy’s poor health.’ He doesn’t have enough wherewithal about the world to question this.

The ‘dangerous’ label has been cropping up more often lately, since the smith mages have tried over and over to help Alfred hone his magic proficiency, all to come up empty-handed. Alfred knows he’s a little old - all seventeen years - to not have developed a focus, but this must happen to other young people? He’s just a ‘late bloomer’ as his mother has said. That’s all.

When they reach the door to the guest sitting room, Alfred opens it and steps aside. “You’ve each got a separate bedroom attached to this, and there’s another exit in each of those rooms.”

Simon steps past him to peek his head in, looking back and forth before popping back out. He gives Alfred a smile. “Your mama is sure concerned about your health; I’m amazed she let you walk up these stairs.”

Alfred frowns. “My mama’s just looking out for me.”

Simon shrugs. “You don’t seem ill, is all I’m saying. Anything but.”

Then he gives Alfred a long look. Longer than can be considered polite. Alfred feels a shock race through him, something electric, from head to toe. He can feel his ears burning, and his face, and he quickly twists away. “Come on, there’s plenty more to see.”

Alfred shows him a little more of the house, and then out to the gardens behind the manor. As they stroll, Alfred can’t help but be curious, asking “Where have you and the Captain come from, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Out West. Originally from Wisconsin Province.”

“Ah. The cheese,” Alfred says, and then, realizing how out of context that was, clarifies, “Mama asked for our good Wisconsin cheese to be served. Her hospitality.”

Simon chuckles, and Alfred finds he likes the sound of that laugh - easy, limber, tickling your eardrums. “They’re all about good Eastern hospitality ‘round these parts, I see. And this tour, that’s part of the hospitality too?”

Alfred’s not sure how to respond to such an odd comment. “Er, well, if you’re gonna be staying here, you should know what there is to do.”

“Okay. So, what do you do, then?”

“Me?”

“Yeah. For, y’know fun. Or has she got you tucked away in the house all day, learning to embroider and manage a household so you’ll attract a well to do wife or husband? I wouldn’t think someone of ‘your constitution’ would do well managing a business,” Simon says, smirking.

Alfred bites back a scowl. He’s used to insults and he doesn’t cower away from them like he used to. “For your information, I’ve been helping to manage our business since I could ride a horse. I spend most of my time in the stables, making sure they’re all well fed and groomed and up to the standard of our family name. I’m not some damn invalid.”

Simon blinks, and his smile only gets wider. “Oh, there we go!”

“There we go what?”

“You’ve been talking like a Coal-damned politician this whole time. Figured there was some spunk underneath.”

“So, you were what, baiting me?”

“A little. Hey, don’t take offense. I just hate people acting disingenuous.” Simon shrugs his shoulders. “I’d rather see the blunt, honest truth. Get me?”

Alfred shakes his head. “No, not at all.”

Simon smiles. “Oh, I think you will.”

~

Simon is odd, in a way that Alfred can’t quite put a finger on. When he’s with his father and Alfred’s mother, he’s perfectly polite, mostly by staying quiet, but in the moments that Simon and Alfred spend alone, usually by the circumstance of their parents sending them off together, his whole dynamic changes.

He’s teasing, but in a way that suggests he wants Alfred to be in on the joke. He’s inquisitive about Alfred’s work with the horses, and he seems genuinely interested, nothing like the bland “Mhmms” and “Ahhhs” that previous guests have directed towards him. He doesn’t treat Alfred like he needs to be careful with him, demanding that they go on long walks, or ride horses, or investigate those ‘forbidden woods’ that Alfred’s mother has been crowing about.

He’s easily the most fascinating person Alfred has met in a while. And despite the conflict of that first conversation, Alfred can’t help but like Simon. He’s the first person around Alfred’s age who treats him like a person, instead of a wealthy gentleman, an invalid, or a freak.

“You ever gone fishing, Alfie?”

“It’s Alfred, Simon.”

“Mhmm.”

That’s the other thing. Simon has taken to calling him a nickname, one that Alfred didn’t ask for, but doesn’t hate, even if he protests. Everyone else calls him ‘Alfred’ or ‘Mr. Kaspbrak,’ so this nickname, it feels almost like a special thing between the both of them.

“Like I was saying,” Simon continues. “Fishing?”

“Mama worries that I’d hook myself and catch all sorts of diseases from the pond water,” Alfred responds.

Simon gets this devious look in his eyes. “Oh, so you definitely haven’t swum in that creek in the woods, huh?”

“I, uh... don’t know how to swim.”

“Really? Guess that makes sense, seeing as nobody ever lets you do anything the slightest bit risky, or even fun, other than the horses.” Simon hops off the rock he’s been sitting on, motioning. “Come on. I’ll teach you.”

“What?” Alfred gapes at him. “I can’t! I’ll get in trouble!”

“Who’s gonna know? Come on, Alfie. Live a little.”

“My name is Alfred. And we really shouldn’t...”

“Now didn’t your mama tell you that guests should be allowed to choose how they leisure? I’m gonna leisure myself over to the creek, and you can’t just let me go by myself. That’s not hospitality, Alfie.”

“It’s Alfred! And- fine!”

So that’s how they end up at the edge of the creek, which is not very wide and not very deep, and yet, Alfred is shaking as he watches Simon strip out of his coat and shirt, revealing his skinny, smooth chest, brushed with fine hairs. When he moves to undo the button of his trousers, Alfred whips around and starts nervously fiddling with his own buttons.

“Come on, hurry it up,” Simon calls. “I wanna be able to drown you and bury the body before sunset.”

“That’s not funny!”

Alfred hears a splash as he tosses his shirt over a rock. “Wooo, it’s chilly! Definitely gonna catch hypothermia and die out here. Make sure my daddy knows my last words were ‘Alfie, how could you send me to my grave this way?’”

“Oh, fuck off,” Alfred snickers.

He rests his hands on the button of his trousers and pauses as the warm summer breeze licks across his chest. This is something he’s never done before. Well, the swimming but also, the nudity in front of another person, besides maybe when he was very young. He supposes that if he was like other boys, spending their summers swimming together and enjoying nature, he wouldn’t feel so... vulnerable.

Alfred hears another splash.

“Hey,” Simon calls. “Turn around for a second.”

“What?” Alfred asks. When he turns, he sees Simon standing in the water up to his chest.

“Water’s not that deep,” Simon says. “You could leave those trousers on, if you like. We’ll lay out on the grass after and they’ll be dry before you get home. Your mama won’t ever know.”

Simon’s being serious. It’s an odd tone for him - so odd, that it makes Alfred more uncomfortable than the nudity.

“Nah, fuck it,” Alfred says, and he quickly jerks his trousers down, kicking them off and then splashing down into the water. “Oh, fucking _spells_ that’s cold!”

Simon laughs. “Told you. Not like your rich boy bath water, right?”

Alfred scowls. “Why did I agree to this again?”

“Hmmm, probably because of something like THIS!”

And suddenly there’s a wall of water hitting Alfred, making him sputter and hack when he gets some of it in his mouth.

“Eww, Simon, fish fucking shit in here!” Alfred spits out water, glaring when Simon falls back cackling. “If I catch some horrible disease, you’ll feel sorry!”

“Suppose that’s true,” Simon says, grinning. “But I’ll take my chances. Come on, your turn.”

“My turn?”

“Yeah, to splash me. See, I’ll stay nice and still, so you don’t even have to aim very hard.”

Alfred’s first attempt at a splash is too deep, barely flicking water onto Simon. This leads to Simon demonstrating the best techniques, and soon they get a good splash war going on. After the first incident with the water, Alfred relaxes, and soon he too is laughing and diving to the side to avoid big waves from Simon, only to return fire.

After a while, Simon swims out a little farther, to a place where his feet don’t touch the ground. “Come on, I said I’d teach you to swim, right? Gotta learn to float first.”

“Can we do it another day?” Alfred asks. Now that he’s come to the moment, he’s not sure whether he’s got the stomach for it.

Simon shakes his head, holding out a hand. “Just try it. I promise I won’t let you drown.”

Alfred groans and takes Simon’s hand, letting himself be dragged farther into the water. He kicks his legs uselessly, and his head almost goes under until Simon catches him around the waist and holds him up.

“Okay, just tip your head back, let it rest against the water. I’ll hold your feet. Straighten your body out as much as possible.”

With a little fumbling, they manage to get Alfred on his back, and somehow not dropping like a stone.

“Is this good?” Alfred asks, nervously. “Do I look okay?”

Simon looks at him for a long moment, and then nods.

“Yeah, Alfie. You look great.”

~

Alfred looks forward to mornings now. Coming into the parlor, catching sight of Simon for the first time that day, getting his first wry smile. Simon is the only person who’s ever seen Alfred as capable, as something beyond what his mother says he is.

Alfred isn’t dumb, but he’s ignorant about a lot, even his own emotions. He doesn’t realize what he’s feeling about Simon is something a whole lot bigger than friendship until one afternoon, about three weeks into Simon’s stay, when a surprise downpour finds them ducking into one of the stables.

Their clothes are soaked, but Alfred knows that there are extra towels and blankets up in the loft, and so they strip off the worst of the wet clothes so they can bundle up.

Simon’s shirt comes off, and Alfred hasn’t seen him like this since that time in the creek. He doesn’t realize he’s reaching out until his cold hands press hot against Simon’s stomach.

Alfred feels warmer than he ever has, from the tips of his ears down to his toes. Simon looks up at him with surprise, but then an understanding. He takes one of Alfred’s hands, lifts it to his lips, and kisses the knuckle.

Alfred lunges forward and kisses him, hard and messy. After that, it’s all a fog of bliss.

From then on, they spend a lot more time indoors, hiding out in the lofts or rooms of the house that are unoccupied. Simon is more experienced, but more than willing to teach, and kind and generous with lessons.

Alfred thinks he’s in love. No, he knows he’s in love. No other person has ever made him feel this way. Nobody has ever cared for him like this, nobody’s ever made him laugh like this, or made him feel wanted.

And like any foolish boy in love, he’s far too impulsive for his own good.

One evening, when they’re curled together in the loft, trading lazy kisses, Alfred mutters, “You should stay.”

Simon pulls back, frowning. “What do you mean?”

“When our folks finish their business. You could stay. Work with us on the horses. Your daddy said you needed to learn a good trade.”

“Oh, so that’s why you’d want me to stay? No other reason?”

Alfred giggles, pecking him again. “Didn’t say that. Or maybe I could come with you.”

“Don’t you have a whole business to run after this?”

“Yeah, but mama can tend to it for a while. I’d like to go out and see the world. Meet new people, have adventures.”

“You sure your delicate constitution can handle that?”

“Fuck off,” Alfred says good-naturedly. He’s realized more and more lately how much he can do if he ignores his mama’s warnings, which now all seem unnecessary and overburdening.

“You don’t know the first thing about life on the road, Alfie,” Simon reminds him. “You don’t know how to shoot a gun or catch a fish if you run out of food, or how to get yourself out of trouble. I can’t guarantee I’ll always be there to help you, either.”

“So, teach me.” Alfred smiles dopily at him, too lost in love to understand the warning Simon is giving him. “I want to learn. I don’t want to be a house-husband who fritters away all my days in a big mansion. The world is far too interesting for me to do that.”

Simon takes pity on him and borrows his father’s nice silver pistol so they can practice shooting at bottles. He compliments Alfred on his technique and calls him a quick study.

“You’ll be the fastest draw in the Eastern Counties,” Simon says, smirking that lovely, teasing smirk and laughing when Alfred tackles him to the ground.

~

On Simon’s last night at the estate - before Alfred knew it was his last night - they sit atop a hill on the edge of the property, sipping beer nicked from the larder and looking up at the rising moon. Alfred looks at Simon there, and decides he can’t wait any more.

“Simon?”

“Hmm?”

“I’ve been thinking... I don’t care if I’m here or out in the world, just as long as I’m with you.”

Simon looks frazzled, running a hand through his hair. “Alfie, you can’t just say things like that out of the blue.”

“I can and I will,” Alfred insists. “I’ve never been as happy as I am right now, Simon. You’re the reason.” He swallows down a well of tears that threaten to overwhelm him. “I don’t want to go back to how I was living before. It’s not enough anymore.”

“Alfie...” Simon puts his bottle down in the grass and draws Alfred against him. “What do you want, then?”

“I want you,” Alfred says. “Just you. Always and forever.”

Alfred feels a gentle kiss to the top of his hair. “Okay. I guess you can have me, then.”

“Yeah?”

“Whatever you want, Alfie. I’d hang the moon for you.”

Alfred bears Simon down with love-driven kisses, and he’s never quite this happy ever again.

~

Looking back from a lifetime of experience, Alfred knows he couldn’t have seen it coming, but he wishes he had, just to prevent this heartache.

He wakes the next morning to his mama sobbing in the halls. When he steps out of his rooms, she yells, “Oh Alfred, they’ve _ruined_ us!” and he knows something is horribly wrong.

All their best horses have vanished overnight. Twenty fine animals, along with three stable hands. The Captain and Simon’s rooms are empty, all the finery within also missing. In the following weeks, they’ll discover that a man fitting the Captain’s description has been running all kinds of cons up and down the Counties, stealing from the rich and poor alike. He convinced the stable hands to help them ferry away the horses with promises of wealth and luxury, only to execute them and leave their bodies in the woods. He also apparently has a young man with him, who often takes on the work of distracting other household members in whatever way he can, up to and including through seduction.

Alfie’s a fool. A Wood-damned moron. Simon never loved him. Simon never wanted him. Simon used him, nothing more.

His heart cracks in two, and he spends weeks in bed afterwards. When he finally emerges from his rooms, a new, hard shell has formed around it, refusing to be broken again.

Sonia may have been over-exaggerating about this ruining them, but it is a major blow to their finances. They’re forced to sell part of the property, and Sonia takes ill and never recovers. The townsfolk, once willing to at least be pleasant to Alfred, grow cold and hostile. Alfred realizes that his life as the heir to Kaspbrak Stables will never happen. He will get his wish to go out into the world, whether he wants it now or not.

So, for the next several years, he prepares himself. He spends hours and hours practicing with guns, forcing himself to work his magic, yet still never finding a proficiency. He learns how to camp, how to ride for long distances without overtiring himself, how to hunt and fish, how to light a fire, how to look for clean water and signs of dangerous animals. He learns about bounty hunting, realizes that for a person like him, it’s going to be the only likely path forward.

He’ll survive, broken, but alive.

When Sonia passes away two years on, Alfred is on the back of his fastest horse not long after, feeling the flames rise in the empty house behind him. Burning away his old life, so he can begin a new one. And this time, he swears, he won’t let anyone take his heart and abuse it ever again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DUN DUN DUUUUUUUUUUUUUUNNNNNNNNN


	9. 3:10 to Derry

_Present Day_

Eddie stays frozen for far too long atop the roof of the cargo car, staring at the space where Richie stood and called him a name he never thought he’d hear again. Used it so easy, like it was natural for him.

Impossible, Eddie thinks. It’s impossible...

And yet.

The train jostles again, knocking Eddie out of his daydream. He scolds himself for getting caught up in old memories. He’s already wasted time, and he needs to move, to get to the front compartment as fast as possible.

Eddie takes a running start, jumping from one cargo cab to the next. He lands hard, stumbling forward and throwing his arms out to balance himself. Acrobatics aren’t his strong suit, but if he stays to the middle of each cab, he should be okay.

The next obstacles are the two coal containers directly ahead. There’s no roof to these cars, so they expose the coal to the air, a great mass of black that looks disarmingly solid. Eddie’s boots sink into the coal as he fights for each step, cursing. Maybe he should’ve let Richie do this part. And he’s going to have to climb back across later? Fuck.

He’s streaked with soot by the time he makes it out of the second container. It’s been at least two minutes since he and Richie separated, so they’ve got what, four minutes left? Is that right? Shit, he’s moving too slowly. C’mon Kaspbrak, Eddie thinks. People will die if you don't move your ass!

Eddie approaches the edge of this cargo car carefully. He knows the gunshots came from the front cab, but he doesn’t know where the gunman is now. Maybe there are guards waiting for him to make a wrong move, get in their line of sight so they can shoot him down. No way of knowing, really. He hates using these sorts of fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants plans. If he’d had his way, this would’ve taken three days of planning, safety checks, and not required him to leap across the back of a moving train.

When he peeks over the edge of the container, there’s no one in sight. Even so, he draws his gun as he swings down the ladder, climbing to the bottom. Across from the door to the train cab, there’s an entry door to the cargo container. It’s been left open, which seems dangerous for a moving vehicle.

Eddie frowns. He pulls his hat off and waves it in front of the open door, yanking it back when he hears a shot, and watches a dangerously large fireball slam into the back of the engine cab.

“Hey!” Eddie shouts. “Are you nuts? Don’t shoot fire at a train full of coal, fucking spells!”

A young, high-pitched voice shouts in reply. “Get off our train! There’s nothing to steal, and the cabin is guarded by five men!”

“If there’s nothing to steal, why would they need that many guards?”

“Sh-shut up!”

“Listen, I’m not trying to rob you!” Eddie grits his teeth. His arms and legs are starting to hurt, hanging off of this ladder. “I’m trying to warn you! Everyone on this train is in danger.”

“The only danger I see is the guy who hopped our train!”

“Look, how about this? I’ll throw my guns in there, so I’m not armed. Just let me come on and explain, okay?” Without waiting for an answer, Eddie lobs the first pistol onto the floor of the container, then the second, and then the third. He sees them snatched up by two small hands, and then a young boy, no more than fourteen or fifteen, peeks out at him, keeping his pistol trained on Eddie.

“Get in here,” the boy says, stepping back as Eddie drops to the floor, holding his hands above his head. “You’ve got a minute before I blow your head off.”

“I don’t even need a minute,” Eddie says. “There’s a Coal Demon following this train. I need the engineer’s help to stop it.”

“There is not!”

“I’ve been tracking it for five days. If we don’t stop it now, it’s going to destroy Derry and potentially any other city in the Counties it can get to.”

“I don’t believe you.” The boy presses the gun into Eddie’s chest.

“Call one of your boys,” Eddie says, motioning to the engine behind him. “Tell them to look out the windows.”

The boy stares at him hard for a minute, before yelling over Eddie’s shoulder. “OBADIAH!”

Eddie hears someone yell back in a thick accent. “You get the varmint, Joshua?” Then the sound of footsteps that suddenly halt. “Oh, damn. Caught him. Nice job.”

The boy, Joshua, motions to the person behind Eddie. “Tell Priya to look behind the train! What’s she see there?”

The footsteps walk away, and for the next fifteen seconds, Eddie and the boy are frozen in place, staring at one another, waiting for the results. Eddie prays the engineer has good eyesight, and that the moon stays bright in the sky, no cloud cover.

Pounding footsteps make Eddie smile a moment before he hears the same voice yelling, “There’s a Coal-damned beast comin’ after us!”

The boy’s eyes widen. “You weren’t lying.” He lowers the gun. “I’m sorry.”

“You were just protecting your people,” Eddie says, tipping his hat. “I get it.” He turns around to address the man. “Let me talk to the driver. I’ve got a way to destroy that thing, but we need to hurry.”

~

The plan with the front cab is set quickly, and Eddie scrambles back to the roof of the train, ducking under the tree cover that threatens to knock him over the side. He sees the entrance to the mine coming up and knows that time is almost out.

The next minute is a blur of the path back, and Eddie drops to the floor of the dining car at the end. The door is open, and inside, a good dozen people are gathered, watching him expectantly.

Richie stands in the center of the aisle, grinning at Eddie. “You know you look like you just climbed out of a mine?”

Eddie glances down at his soot-covered clothes, and sighs. “Hope this’ll come out with a wash.”

“No need.” Richie steps up to him, pressing a hand over Eddie’s heart. Eddie feels the tingle of magic being worked, and watches in fascination as the soot and dust is drawn inwards towards Richie’s palm, almost like a liquid, ending when Richie pulls his hand back and reveals a very small lump of coal. He tucks it into Eddie’s breast pocket. “A little luck for you.”

“Richie...” Eddie has so many things he wants to say - _is it true? Are you who I think you are? Why did you leave me? Why did you hurt me? Do you regret it? Did you ever feel anything for me? What about now?_ \- but there isn’t time. So, he settles for pulling Richie down by the shirt for a soft, bare kiss, because if it’s all about to fall apart, at least he’ll have this last good memory.

When he pulls back, Richie smiles softly. “Yeah. Me too, Eddie.”

Eddie doesn’t know what he said with that kiss, but apparently Richie does. He’ll have to fill Eddie in later.

Everyone has been cleared from the observation car. Eddie walks down the empty corridor, opening the back door to see the Coal Demon lumbering along behind them, letting out snorts and vicious sounds, galloping over the tracks but still gaining no ground. The plain they’re traveling along is flat, and Eddie knows Derry can’t be more than half a mile away.

They’ve run out of time. He needs to do this now.

Together, Eddie and Richie unlock the connecting mechanisms between the dining car and observation car, leaving only a single latch remaining. Eddie positions himself at the back door of the dining car, and nods to Richie, who opens one of the windows and waves his hat wildly in the moonlight.

On cue, Eddie feels the brakes being applied. _Not all the way_ , Eddie had told the engineer. _You’re going to want to slow it gently, give me time._ He’d made up some story about a weapon they’d loaded onto the back of the train, because the real plan would’ve been too ludicrous to be believed.

Now, looking through the back door of the last car, Eddie sees the creature howl as it realizes it’s beginning to close in on the train. Eddie ignores it, leaning down and gripping the nearest edges of the observation car lock and closing his eyes.

Eddie breathes in, breathes out. Recalls that moment in the mountain cave, feeling that new power surge through him. Like fitting a key into a lock he hadn’t realized was there, everything that ever felt wrong about his own magic suddenly felt right. Was that how proficient mages always felt, working their magic? It was wonderful, like a piece of himself finally fitting into place.

Metal, Eddie had realized. This new kind of power didn’t need fuel, so much as it needed a _conductor_. Eddie had read about electromagnetic forces in books, and how currents were being experimented with as a power source. Harnessing the power of lightning to make all sorts of new, wonderful creations. Machines moving without steam or fire. And this lightning, this _electricity_ , required metals it could move through.

A bullet is made of metal. So is a train.

Now, Eddie grips the train and imagines his power flowing out into that metal, filling it up with power, surrounding it with sparks and currents and little motes of lightning. He hears the snapping of current, and feels that power rushing through him, in waves and waves and waves, more power than he thought his body could hold. When he opens his eyes, he can see little yellow and blue bolts crackling through his fingertips. The observation car is vibrating with energy, and Eddie carefully directs it to stay within that car, lest it jump to the dining car and hurt someone.

“Eddie, _fucking spells,_ ” Richie gasps.

Eddie laughs aloud, lifting his hands and watching as the currents stay connected from his fingertips to the train.

Oh, this is a power that can change the world. 

“Richie, it feels so _good_ ,” Eddie groans, almost orgasmically.

Richie nods. “I’m sure, baby, but concentrate. We’ve got a big problem headed straight for us.”

Right. Eddie grits his teeth and focuses on pushing more energy into the cab. More, he needs to give it more if this is going to work!

The train continues to slow. The Demon continues to get closer. It can’t be more than three hundred feet away now. Eddie’s body is aching with the force of power he’s channeling, but he has to push past that, has to keep going.

“Get ready, Eddie!” Richie yelps.

The train finally hisses as the brakes bring it to a stop. The Demon shrieks and Eddie shouts as he takes the last of his power and shoots it down into the tracks below the observation car. The latch between the two cars disconnects as the immense magnetic force being emanated from the observation car meets its opposite charge in the tracks, and the car rises, electricity snapping and sparking off the sides.

Eddie’s head is about to split open with pain. There’s so much power, how did his small body generate this much power? He can feel the edges of it pulling on him, threatening to drag more out of him, begin the unstoppable cycle that turns men into Demons. He resists, yelling through the anguish and watching as the Demon gets closer and closer.

It can’t be more than a hundred feet away now. Ninety. Eighty. Seventy.

Closer, Eddie thinks. Just a little closer.

And when that’s it, when Eddie knows he can’t hold it anymore, he lets it go.

Now, bullets leave guns at speeds faster than the human eye can discern. They’re small, and the amount of energy needed to send them flying is fairly miniscule. The damage they can do depends on the target; hitting the side of a barn is far different from hitting a human heart. Killing a rabbit is far easier than killing a Demon.

But what if you had a really, really, _really_ big bullet?

If asked to describe the events that took place in the next three seconds, the passengers would all swear that the back car of their train was levitated into the air, and then shot off faster than a holiday rocket, speeding precisely along the path of the tracks and slamming into the beast charging the train before the creature had the chance to react. They might retell how the front half of the creature’s body seemed to vaporize in the air, chunks of smoldering flesh splattering across the grasslands, how the back half and the train car continued onwards, hundreds of feet in the opposite direction, until they finally landed with an ear-splitting crash, the cabin shrieking and shattering apart as the creature’s flesh dissolved away, leaving only piles and piles of coal scattered across the ground.

The passengers would be laughed out of every establishment in the Counties. A levitating train? A person whose body surged with electricity? And Coal Demons in Derry? Madness.

Eddie falls backwards as the destroyed car rolls to a halt, unable to stay on his feet any longer. He’s completely drained of energy, barely flickering on the edge of consciousness. Thankfully, Richie has the good sense to come around behind him and catch Eddie around the waist, bearing him gently to the ground.

“Hey, woah, easy there,” Richie says, resting Eddie against the warm expanse of his chest.

“I did it,” Eddie breathes. “I did it.”

“Yeah you did, Eds,” Richie replies.

“Don’ call me that...”

Richie laughs, pressing his face against Eddie’s hair. “Fine, fine. Just rest now, okay? Mission’s over. Bounty’s all ours.”

Eddie nods and lets the sound of cheering wash over him.

He could get used to this.

~

The inhabitants of Derry send the coal train on its way, minus one car, as the sun rises over the plains of Maine County. They’re all mighty pleased their sheriff is safe and sound, though mournful of the loss of their deputies. The hunters had roused them all from bed, shouting and yelling about an evacuation, and half the town had fled to the fields and farms when a great explosion shook the land. Then the sheriff and hunters had called them all back, and many folks complained that they would’ve rather slept through one damn explosion, but when the story of it came out the next morning, they were all cowed and relieved at the events that had occurred.

The killing of a great Demon calls for a celebration, and the town, though small and not very wealthy, all pitch in to set up a grand dinner feast in the tavern. The hunters, the sheriff, and Bill are all gently bullied into getting some rest, lest they fall asleep in their tankards during the festivities.

So, Eddie should be sleeping, but instead he finds himself knocking on Stan and Richie’s door. This isn’t a conversation he can wait to have.

Stan opens the door, takes one look at Eddie’s face, and knows something’s up.

“Should I be worried?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” Eddie answers honestly.

Richie appears over Stan’s shoulder. “Eddie? What is it?”

“We need to talk.”

They enter Eddie’s room silently, Eddie moving to stand in front of the bed while Richie shuts the door behind them.

“What’s going on?” Richie asks.

Eddie motions to the bed. “Sit.”

As Richie takes a seat, Eddie paces, tries to figure out how he’s going to begin this conversation. What should the tone be? Accusatory? Betrayed? Hopeful? Impossible to say, he supposes, when he doesn’t even know the name of what he feels right now. It’s a mishmash of complex, confusing emotions, good memories impossible to detach from bad ones.

So, the only thing he can think to say is, “You called me Alfie.”

Richie blinks, the recognition slowly dawning in horror on his face. “Oh, oh _fuck_ \- I’m- Eddie I’m sorry, I can explain-”

“Just tell me something.” Eddie says. He swallows as a painful burning starts behind his eyes. “This Alfie, did you love him?”

He has to know. He’s spent too many years wondering.

“Eddie, don’t ask me that,” Richie pleads. “That’s in the past-”

“The past never stays buried, Richie.” Eddie folds his arms, holds his ground. “I need to know. Tell me about him. Tell me who he was to you.”

Richie ducks his head, drawing his hands into his lap. He fidgets, squirms under the weight of the question, before he sighs and looks back up.

“He was my everything, alright?” Richie says. “He was bright and beautiful and all that’s good in the world. And I fucked it up, Eddie. I fucked it all up.”

“How?” Eddie asks. “What did you do?”

Richie swallows. “I let him go to try to keep him safe. Let someone convince me that he’d be better off where he was. And when I realized he wasn’t, realized what I’d done, it was too late. He was gone. I’d as good as killed him myself.”

Eddie leans forward, resting his palms on Richie’s knees. “I never told you, did I? It was a middle name.”

Richie blinks. “What?”

“I’ve got my daddy’s name, but Mama couldn’t stand to hear it after he passed. So, she made everyone call me Alfred. Edward Alfred Kaspbrak. Junior.”

Richie, usually so quick on the uptake, is being frustratingly slow now, staring at Eddie like he’s a man possessed, saying nothing.

“Is Simon your middle name?” Eddie asks. “Or just something the Captain made up? I guess he probably wasn’t the Captain either.”

Finally, Richie reaches up, cupping Eddie’s face in his hands.

“Alfie?” he asks, painfully hopeful.

Eddie nods.

He loses his balance when Richie surges forward, kissing him desperately, and grabs Richie’s shirt for support. Richie lets out a pained noise and drags Eddie up onto his lap, not breaking the kiss, even when his breath shudders in a sob, even when wet drops fall from his eyes against Eddie’s cheeks; he clings to Eddie like a man drowning in want of air.

“ _Alfie_ ,” Richie whispers. “ _My Alfie..._ ”

Eddie smiles against his mouth. “You’ve always had a thing for nicknames. Should’ve realized it the first time you called me Eds.”

Richie finally pulls back, only to press his face against Eddie’s neck, wrapping his arms tight around Eddie and breathing in.

“I went back for you, Alfie. They told me you died,” Richie murmurs. “Burned in the house with your mama.”

Eddie nods, understanding why he believed it. “I burned it, Richie. Borrowed a body fresh from the graveyard and set the place ablaze after mama went. I needed them to think I’d gone, or they might’ve set a bounty on my head. You went back?”

“With Stan,” Richie says. “He helped me realize I didn’t want that kind of life. Wanted to be a better man for myself, and you. But you were gone.” His arms tighten around Eddie. “I thought I’d left you to die, all this time. I’m sorry, Alfie. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“What?”

“Alfie. That’s not my name anymore. Just like you’re not Simon. We’re both different people now, Richie. So, it’s Eddie. Or... or Eds.”

“Okay.” Richie presses a wet kiss to Eddie’s neck, and Eddie jerks, shivering. “Whatever you want, Eddie. My dear, amazing Eds.”

Eddie knows by Richie’s roaming hands and mouth what he wants to do, and oh, Eddie wouldn’t mind taking the conversation this direction, except there are still a few more things he needs to say.

“Richie, wait,” he groans. Richie freezes, halfway down Eddie’s neck with more soft kisses. “Is that what you want?”

“What do you mean?” Richie asks, eyes full of a sorrowful yearning, like Eddie’s just told him they can’t continue on together.

“I’m not the kid I was back then,” Eddie says. He swallows, hating himself for ruining this perfect moment of reunion. But it has to be said. “I can’t be anybody other than who I am right now.”

You think I don’t know that?” Richie asks. “For fuck’s sake, Eddie.”

“ _Richie_ ,” Eddie insists. “Just because you loved me then, you’re not obligated to keep loving me now. If that’s not what you want.”

Richie gapes at him, like Eddie’s just said the stupidest thing it’s possible to say. A ten on the sheer stupidity scale, by the looks of it.

“Let me get this straight,” Richie says. “I’m the one who lied to you, pretended to be someone I wasn’t, and abandoned you, and you’re the one worried about not living up to _my_ expectations?”

“Well, when you put it that way...”

“Aren’t you mad at me? I would be mad at me. Any sane person would.”

“Of course I am- was. But like I said. You’re not the same person.”

“You don’t know that. You can’t tell. I could be bullshitting you again, making you think I’ve changed.”

Eddie laughs, cupping Richie’s cheeks. “Rich, I hate to tell you this, but you’re not as good of a bullshitter as you think you are. Alfie couldn’t tell, but I sure as shit can.”

Richie swallows, blinking furiously at him. “This wasn’t how I saw our reunion playing out, you know. I expected a lot more screaming or beating me with a blunt object while you cursed my name.”

“Sorry I couldn’t meet your expectations.”

“No, Eds, don’t you dare apologize.” Richie leans up to press a sweet kiss to Eddie’s mouth. “You’ve exceeded them.”

“Richie.”

“I want you,” Richie explains. “You, Eddie, not anybody else. Do you want me?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says. “I want my Richie.”

And maybe that’s the point, Eddie thinks, as Richie bears him down to the bed, and they embrace in a desperate passion, only coming apart in brief spurts to discard clothing. Eddie held onto a ghost of Simon for twenty years. An idea that was as unimpeachable, unchanging, as Richie’s idea of Alfie.

But real life is messy, and the fantasies of our pasts never quite fit the realities of our present.

What Eddie knows is this. Richie might have seen the ghost of Alfie in Eddie that first night, but Richie saved _Eddie_ from those outlaws, not Alfie. Richie watched over Eddie as he healed, not Alfie. Richie risked his own life for Eddie’s, not Alfie’s. Richie fought for him, protected him, and asked for nothing in return. Richie sees good in Eddie, but he can’t see the good in himself.

Except Eddie’s seen it. In Richie’s loyalty to Stan, even at the expense of his own happiness. In the way Richie recklessly but bravely put his own life in danger to protect not just friends, but a small, insignificant town of folks he doesn’t even know. In the way he treats others, the compassion for lost souls, the sorrow and regret for his own sins.

Richie is loud. Richie is obnoxious. Richie is sarcastic. Richie is kind. Richie is smart and funny and a little foolish and wears his heart on his sleeve. Richie would hang the moon for him.

Richie is perfectly imperfect.

And that, Eddie thinks, is better than any fantasy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just the epilogue left!


	10. The Treasure of Derry, Maine

_Epilogue_

The sun rises over Derry on the first of many mornings with no present danger in sight. Over at Bill’s tavern, five hunters sit around a circle table, chatting amicably and sipping slapdash cups of coffee that Ben and Bev brewed from their road kit, a result of necessity.

For you see, the proprietor is nowhere to be found.

Eddie’s not ready to send out a search party yet, and his patience is rewarded when the door to the tavern swings open.

Bill steps inside, weary-eyed but smiling, and behind him, Mike follows, wearing a shiner over his eye but an otherwise cheerful spring in his step.

“Big Bill,” Richie drawls. “Didn’t realize you’d been deputized.”

Bill frowns. “What are you t-talking about, Richie?”

Richie motions to Bill’s chest. “I mean the badge. Nice shirt, by the way, is it new? The Sheriff’s got one just like it.”

Bill looks down. Pinned to the front of his far-too-loose shirt is a shiny silver badge.

He looks over to Mike, who looks back, and then they both purposefully move towards opposite sides of the room; Bill practically run-walking behind the bar and Mike dropping into a chair at the hunters’ table.

There’s a moment of silence. Somebody snickers.

Bev holds out her hand to Stan. “Pay up, love.”

“Water-damn it, Hanlon!” Stan sighs, pulling out his coin purse and glaring at Mike. “You couldn’t have waited another twelve hours, you horn dog?”

“Leave him alone, Stan,” Ben says affably. “His love life isn’t your business.”

“Says the guy whose girl just won a ton of money off me,” Stan grumbles.

“I just want to thank you for bringing him back to your house instead of doing it here,” Richie says. “His room is next to Eddie’s and I really didn’t want to hear your passionate, tender lovemaking all night.”

“If only you and Eddie gave Ms. Fernando’s bridge club the same courtesy,” Stan mutters.

“Laugh it up, go ahead,” Mike sighs. “See, I was here to talk on the matter of payment, but ya’ll seem keen on discussing my sex life.”

“Oh, we can come back to your sex life later, Sheriff,” Eddie says. “Everybody shut up and let him talk.”

Thankfully, nobody’s looking to argue, leaving Mike the open floor. He reaches under his trench coat and pulls out a large file folder, spreading the contents out on the table.

“I went around town, got as much as I could from the townsfolk. Hoped that I’d get more over the last few days, but people are hurting more than I thought they would.” Mike frowns at the pitiful pile. “Altogether, we’ve got fifty-thousand dollars’ worth of bearer bonds.”

“That’s half the bounty.” Ben says. “Ten thousand for each of us.”

“So then,” Stan asks, folding his arms. “Where’s the rest of it?”

Bill has come out of the back by this point, and he steps over to the table, laying several documents in the middle. The hunters lean in, studying the paperwork.

“This is... the deed to the bar?” Eddie asks. “Bill, you’re not serious.”

“I had it assessed a f-few years back,” Bill says, shrugging. “You could probably get at least twenty grand for the p-property, if you wanted to sell.”

“And the last thirty grand?” Stan asks.

Mike pulls one more paper out and lays it flat. The top is titled _Charter of the Establishment of the town Derry, 1797._

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Bev says. “You’re giving us the town deed? Fucking spells, Hanlon!”

“Think of it as collateral,” Mike explains. “To be returned when we collect the other thirty grand to pay you with.”

“And how are you gonna do that?” Richie asks. “You just said that fifty was all your folks had.”

“Well, we’ll make more,” Mike says, shrugging. “Town’s not dead yet. Might be by the time we’re done paying this off, but we keep our promises here. You’ll get your money. It’ll take a little longer than you wanted, but it’s the best we can do.”

Eddie stares at the pile of papers on the table in front of him, the only wealth in the world that the people of this town have. What must it be like, to love a place and the people in it so much, that you’ll give up the little you have to make sure it survives, even for a little longer?

“Bill, take your fucking deed back,” Eddie says. “Nobody’s taking your tavern.”

“Fair’s fair!” Bill protests. “Without you all, this t-town would be gone; I wouldn’t even have a bar to g-give you.”

“No, Eddie’s right,” Ben says. “I’d feel like a right heel, making any claim to this place.”

“Well, we can’t have Haystack over here feeling blue, can we, guys?” Richie says. He picks up the tavern deed papers. “So, I guess I’ll just grab this for myself-”

“ _Richie_!” Stan and Eddie cry in tandem.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” Richie says, smacking the papers back against Bill’s chest. “Nobody wants your damn bar, Denbrough. Although I wouldn’t mind free drinks for life...”

“D-done,” Bill says. “Whatever you want, Richie. Thank you.” He looks overwhelmingly grateful.

“Oh, you’re gonna regret that,” Stan groans. “We all will.”

“So, how do we split the rest?” Bev asks. “Eddie, any more bright ideas?”

Eddie’s been stewing on something since the night before, and now he gathers the bearer bonds up, handing them out evenly to the hunters. “Ten thousand each, like we agreed on. Now as for the deed, Mike, I’ve got a proposition for you, at least for myself.”

“I’m all ears,” Mike says.

“I can’t do squat with those papers,” Eddie points out. “But I’ve noticed you’ve got a lot of land in town going unused. Might have to clear some old houses, but that shouldn’t be too hard.”

“You want property?” Mike asks. “I’ve no opposition to that. What do you plan on doing with it?”

“Well, ten thousand seems like enough to build a nice little place to live. Maybe some stables, and I’ve got my own bit of savings. Enough to buy a few horses.” Eddie smiles, leaning back in his chair. “See, I used to be in that business, and I think this town might be a great place to start up again.”

“You wanna start up a horse trade in Derry?” Mike asks.

“Eddie...” Eddie turns to look at Richie and hates to see the hurting look on his face. “Is that what you really want?”

“Uh oh,” Ben says. “I’m sensing ya’ll didn’t talk about this.”

“Richie, I told you what I want.” Eddie reaches out, clasping his hand. “But you’re not the only thing. I’m so damn tired of running, I think I finally found a place I can settle. Build something like a normal life. And I’ll be here whenever you want that too.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t want it now, Eds,” Richie says softly, sadly. “But I’ve got responsibilities. Debts to pay.”

“Fucking spells, Rich, is that what you’ve been brooding about?” Stan snaps. “You still think you owe me anything?”

“Of course I do!” Richie scowls. “I owe you damn everything I am.”

“You don’t owe me your whole fucking life, Richie. Fuck, you are a moron sometimes.” Stan motions to Eddie. “What’d you say when he told you that?”

Richie makes a noise of protest, but Eddie ignores him. “Said the same thing, actually. About the whole life situation.”

Stan jabs his arm towards Eddie, waving wildly. “See? By the Triad, I’m just happy you found somebody with some fucking common sense. You fucking martyr.”

“Fuck you!” Richie snaps. “What, am I just supposed to abandon you? You don’t have another partner.”

“I don’t _need_ another partner,” Stan says. “Y’know Richie, for a smart guy, you don’t have a lick of imagination. Hey, Mike,” he continues, looking to the sheriff. “Not to be morbid, but you’re down two deputies, correct?”

“That I am,” Mike says, nodding along, looking like he knows exactly where Stan is going with this. “Nuñez and I might have trouble by ourselves if what’s left of Bowers’ gang decides to regroup.”

Stan nods. “Perfect. I’d like to offer my services to Derry’s sheriff’s office, in exchange for reasonable compensation and my own little plot of land. I think my dumbass partner might want a job too, but I can’t speak for him.”

“Are you serious, Stannie?” Richie asks, gaping at him. “You wanna settle down here? I thought you told me you never wanted to leave the road.”

“I just want some adventure, Richie,” Stan replies, winking at Eddie. “I’ve got a feeling there’s bound to be some around here. Besides, if I get bored, I can always go back on the road and have a place to come home to.”

“I’d be glad to hire you both, I’ve already seen your work,” Mike says, smiling in amusement.

“Great,” Stan says. “Then that covers mine and Richie’s other ten thousand. Now we need to just figure out Ben and Bev.”

The five other people at the table look to the last two hunters. Ben is smirking, shaking his head, and Bev has her head in her hands.

“Fuck you all. Damn do gooders,” she groans. “Fine. Here’s the deal. Free room and board _and_ alcohol whenever we come back. And Ben and I also _each_ get our own plot of land.” She jabs a finger at Eddie. “And since you started this parade of charity, we each get one of your first bred foals.”

“I can do that,” Bill replies.

“Sounds reasonable,” Mike says.

“If it’ll end all this hoopla, so be it,” Eddie says.

“Alright. Let’s all shake on it,” Ben suggests.

There’s a flurry of handshakes between all the different parties, and Eddie feels like they just ended a business meeting, with all the negotiation that just went on.

Then, just like that, the mission has officially concluded. Ben and Bev give their goodbyes, telling Stan as they leave if he’s ever itching for more adventure beyond the limits of Derry, “we wouldn’t mind having a third along.” The amused way Bev says it, and the firm, lingering shake to Stan’s hand leave little to the imagination.

Stan stares as they leave. “Richie, did that feel oddly... sexual, to you?”

“Oh yeah, Stannie,” Richie says, slapping him on the back. “They’d totally bone you. I imagine Haystack has some really soft hands, and Marsh knows her way around a variety of genitalia.”

“Huh,” Stan replies. “Okay. Noted.”

An hour later, Eddie is wandering down the outskirts of Derry, scouting out the best areas to build, with good access to grasslands and the nearby river. He’d asked Richie for some time to himself, but apparently Richie can’t wait forever; he appears suddenly from around the corner, sidling up to Eddie and tapping him on the shoulder.

“Hey, short stuff,” Richie says.

“Hey yourself, beanstalk,” Eddie replies, reaching out to clasp his hand. “You coming to pick out your own land?”

“Well, I was thinking,” Richie says. “Do I really need my own place? You’re gonna build yourself one of those big manors because you’re an ostentatious little shit like that, and I imagine I’ll end up in one of the rooms there. Specifically, whichever one you’re in.”

“So, this is your not-so-subtle way of asking us to live together,” Eddie states.

“Mhmm. Is it working?”

“Maybe. But also, if you pick some land next to mine, we can just make a bigger manor.”

“Who the fuck are we building a bigger house for? It’s just the two of us.”

“Hey, I’m an optimist,” Eddie responds. He twists to face Richie, lifting his hand to kiss the back of it. “Never know what the future holds.”

“Well, here’s what I know, Mister Edward Alfred Kaspbrak _Junior_ ,” Richie says. “We’re gonna build that house, and as soon as that’s done, I’m gonna buy you a ring and get down on one knee and do all that old-fashioned nonsense, and then we’re going to go find whoever passes for a town clerk in this place and make it official. How’s that sound like a plan for the future?”

Yeah, Eddie thinks, stretching up to kiss Richie. That sounds alright with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all she wrote, folks. Thank you so much to everyone who read this story, it was a blast to write and the feedback was amazing. I really loved this world and I might return to it sometime, but for now I'm gonna let Richie and Eddie (and Mike and Bill) (and Bev and Ben... and Stan?) have their happily ever afters. Let me know what you thought of the piece overall! What you loved, what you hated, what you'd hypothetically like to see in a sequel.
> 
> Find me @nighthawkms on tumblr and twitter (I'm more active on the latter nowadays)

**Author's Note:**

> The fic title and all the chapter titles are puns on famous Western movies. Despite what you might think, I have literally watched maybe 2 Westerns in my entire life, but I played the fuck out of Red Dead Redemption 1 and 2 so there is my frame of reference.
> 
> Comments and helpful critique are always welcome, dear reader! I hope everything makes sense so far, I tried not to info-dump but sometimes you really do have to tell; literary rules are flexible and sometimes you have to break them for the sake of your audience understanding wtf is going on.
> 
> Find me on twitter and tumblr @nighthawkms!


End file.
